Stibarsen
by Rin0rourke
Summary: Although it is very white, and almost more shining then silver, it is more brittle then glass. -Discontinued. My Apologies.-
1. Hydrogen

Hydrogen

_The result of the meeting of two which complete one another, which are made for each other, is akin to that of two atomic substances, once joined they become something which is so much more than their existence was individually._

It had finally fucking happened.

He had finally reached the point where he would, without hesitation or remorse, murder the ever loving shit out of his roommate.

Kanda's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tightened further, eyes locked on the road and traffic around him but only seeing the many, varied deaths of his target. A low growl trickled from his throat and he slammed his fist on the horn when a taxi had actually had the _**balls **_to inch between him and the burgundy sedan crawling forward.

The light turned green up ahead and the fight was on, he heard the satisfying scrape as he shot forward, jolting the Yellowcab back a few inches from the impact. Swerving around the sedan he cut sharply in front of a convertible and bolted into a space next to a bright green Lynx bus, effectively jumping five car spaces before the next light halted them again.

A chime sounded beside him "Shit!" breaking hard inches from the crosswalk he pounded on the horn while a flood of people spilled from the sidewalk, "shit shit shit!" straining against the seat belt to reach the duo of cellphones in the passenger that had slid from the console. "Fucking piece of shit bastard." His phone had been going off all evening, as his mysteriously missing debit card always sent him a text whenever any transaction over twenty dollars was charged, and the only person to have been in the apartment that night besides him had been, of course, Lavi. Who had, in a no doubt planned attempt to avoid any contact being made, _'forgotten'_ his cellphone in its place. Before he had hit this ridiculous fucking traffic he had been scrolling through the contacts of the red haired menace for the past hour looking for any of the thieving asshole's friends who might know where he fucking was, "Pick up you mother fucker." but was instead met with a voicemail. Every. Fucking. Time.

'Hey bitches! It's me; you know why you called, so how 'bout sharing? Talk to me after the beep" he punched the steering wheel again, making a group of clubbers who had previously been walking across jump with surprised shouts. He flipped them off with a scowl, leaving his now well practiced tirade of demands and death threats regarding the whereabouts of the soon to be deceased investigator, and a searing remark connecting that particular voicemail greeting to various suicides among the greeter's circle of friends.

He already left a series of, barely, toned down messages with his own coworkers, but as it was nearing two in the morning his belief that they would know, or bother to assist him, were low.

Careening around the corner he left the tourist traffic of International Drive and slid onto a quieter street between a golf outlet store and a gas station, it would take him down to SandLake without all the fucking partying. Two am being the typical cut off time at most bars and clubs and restaurants meant everybody would be dragging their drunk asses home, and he'd have to deal with them.

He glanced again at the contact list. The bastard had so many fucking friends; most of them probably from other countries judging by the area codes, and the effort to search for numbers from this goddamn city was giving him a migraine from _**Hell**_.

The ping of another transaction fell on his ears like weights clinking onto a scale, pushing and _pushing_ until it lifted his minuscule patience to the fucking roof. He was already going to kill the bastard, a serious threat on a regular day was now certain, it was the amount of pain he would inflict and length he would draw it out that was starting to accumulate.

His eyes skipped over a contact name that almost caused him to slam the breaks, _'That idiot wouldn't be so stupid, so exceedingly reckless as to have gone to __**him**__,'_ would he have?

He quickly pulled to the side and stared, hard, at the phone. Allen Walker, the block text was lined up beside a smiling picture of a silver harlequin mask with number and email, and he felt his blood start to pound in his ears. '_Yes, yes he would be that stupid_,' and wasn't it just a fucking brilliant way to keep Kanda off his trail? What was better, this guy would actually help, from what he heard from Lavi and Lenalee and all the other people on the case. He would actually smile and say 'sure' and lead him right to the damn rabbit like a good little hunting dog.

He was certain in a way only a predator on the scent could be, instinct ringing with the thirst for blood. A malicious grin slit his mouth, baring canines just a fraction too long for comfort. The line picked up, "Alright, where the fuck is he?" right to the meat of it.

"Piss off," a muffled voice weighed heavily with British answered, and the image the people he grudgingly called acquaintances had been painting in his mind vanished, "do you know what bloody time it is?"

"Allen walker?" he ground out the question with uncertainty and immeasurable irritation.

The whisper of cloth "I don't know any Cross." Then the line went dead.

Kanda was silent, slowly pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at it, mind blank with the knowledge that he had just been hung up on. _**He**_ had just had_** someone else**_ hang up on _**him.**_

In his mind there existed a kill list, it contained the names of every person he had ever considered killing, from as far back as he could remember, and he had a very good memory, and this.. this... this _**person**_ was skyrocketing to the very top tier.

Since the jury was out on if this man was Allen Walker he'd just label him "fucker that needs to die. _Soon_." and amend it at a later time.

Dialing the number again. The ringtone was some fucking musical score, upbeat and obnoxiously annoying and so very 'Lavi', god damn it but that was not what he needed right now!

He didn't wait until the man spoke this time to rip into him. "If you aren't Allen Walker better fucking tell me now because after I find that idiot Rabbit I am tracing this call and murdering whoever goes by that name."

"Fun times, sounds like you got your night planned. I'm Allen, and if you're calling about money owed I'm terribly sorry but you'll have to just get bent. I'm not associated with a Cross. So kindly fuck off."

"Goddammit I'm not calling about any fucking Cross. What the hell is a Cross? _Fucking Westerners." _The last line was a reoccurring thought plaguing his mind seemingly every second of the day in this fucking country. Find a language and stick to it. Fuck._  
><em>  
>A mumbled 'sodding drunkard' and something about 'piss ups' and he was trying <em>very<em> hard to hold onto him _very_limited patience.

"Who the fuck?" it sounded like 'fook' and Kanda felt that last thread of restraint hum. "This is Lavi's number, who the hell are you?"

"Kanda." he bit the name off. "I'm looking for that idiot, have you seen him?"

"The fuck you have his bloody phone for if you're looking for him?"

"Because he fucking left it so if you've see his ass tell me now before I rip your goddamned arms off and beat you with them."

A puft of breath sounded and the creak of what had to be a mattress. "He was here a couple hours ago, pissed beyond all reason."

"Where the hell'd he go?"

"Probably to finish his bender, dragged Cross and me to some pub near here. Don't know the town yet."

"The fuck? Cross cross cross, The hell's a cross? Nevermind, I don't care. What was the name?"

"What'sit matter?" The slurred accented voice whined. "Not there now, Lavi he's fun but he turns into a berk when he's pissed. Flipped me for some piece of fluff."

"Like I fucking care about your friendship issues, when did you see him last?"

"Like I said, ditched me and he and Cross, it's a name by the way, headed to some other location to shag who knows what. Left me with the naffing bill. Just as well, if I'd joined they`dve left me with it all night." The last part said with no small amount of bitterness, followed by a great sigh, making the speaker roar. Kanda felt his eye tick but before he could continue interrogating his only lead the man spoke again. "Look I'm acting a pillock, sorry. I get this way after a few, s'why I don't like to drink, but Lavi insisted and well, a binge doesn't hurt you`know? You need to find him? I can help. He's probably still with that wanker Cross, I'll give you directions to my flat, we'll look from there."

and what was better, this guy would actually help, from what he heard from Lavi and Lenalee and all the other people on the case he would actually smile and say 'sure' and lead him right to the damn rabbit like a good little hunting dog.

_Flat?_"Flat what? Speak English for fucks sake, every two words is some garbage fucking slang."

He laughed, laughed! That list, in his mind, underlined and in **bold**.

"I _am _speaking English you git. Flat means apartment."

"Then fucking say that instead."

"Look, I'll text you, since you can't understand two words."

"You just give your address to anybody who calls you? Fucking moron."

"Heh, you're Yu right?" An explosion of anger erupted in his gut at the name, his fist gripping the phone to the point of breaking. "Lavi told me about you, said you were a bog standard, needed a good shag. Can't say I agree with the former considering you're oh so impressive vocabulary, but as to the second..."

"Shag what? Carpet? The hell that Usagi talking about my decorating for?" Something crashed and he heard more laughter, no not the huff of a laugh from before, but full guttural laughter. "Oi, what-Fuck!" He heard the ping of a new message and restrained himself, barely, from hurling both phones out the window. The fucking hells so funny! Oi!"

"Ev-everything you just, I don't know what better, that name or the fact you don't know what a shag is. Really Yu, it's possibly the most well-known term among you Americans."

That explosion of anger from a moment ago was back, with shrapnel, and it was scorching the inside if his belly with its hellish inferno. He opened his mouth and let it lick out to verbally sear the bastard on the other end. "I'm not a fucking American you jackwit, so I don't see how some god damned useless word would possibly be in my daily fucking vocabulary. Maybe if you got your boyfriends dick out of your ear you'd be able to tell I have a fucking accent too, but at least I have the basic understanding that not every moron I talk to today will speak my fucking language and made the effort to learn how to talk normally to the people populating the place I'm fucking living instead of assuming that everybody in the world would magic-fuckingly know the retarded ass slang you use on a daily basis like every westerner seems to do and then criticize them like they're idiots when they can't understand the nonsense you're letting vomit out of your face hole!"

There was a quick, electrical beat of silence before the line responded with, "Seriously, you've never even watched Austin Powers?"

"No." he ground out lethally.

"Not even Harry Potter?"

"_Hell_ no."

"Shawn of the Dead?"

"I would rather **kill** myself with a_** power-drill**_!"

"Je-sus you're a nasty piece of work, what's got you so narked?"

"That fucking dipshit Usagi swiped my card and he's charging whatever piss he's swallowing to it!"

"Ouch, know the feeling, so how's about we stop titting around and look for them. They're probably cabbaged at some pub near here, so we'll swipe your card and naff off before he necks anymore pints." The phone jostled as Kanda could only assume the man was getting dressed. "Text you in a bit, Yu."

"Don't call me by that fucking-" but the line was already dead. "Kill him, I'm going to kill him." he sat fuming behind the wheel as he waited for the text telling him the location of who he knew would be the bane of his future existence.

_IA_

Throwing off the covers Allen Walker wobbled to his feet, blissfully drunk and completely naked. The day had not been a good one, the night was little better, and he had been looking forward to the comforting embrace of slumber.

Oh he could have managed the time difference just fine if it had only been England to Florida, but shaking loose of the flimsy chance of a tail had them hopping a plane to Russia, a boat to china, a train up through most of Asia, during Monsoon season of all sodding times, and a relaxing week in India as he coordinated the rehab of their Orlando flat by phone and the magics of the internet. Now that he was state-side he was having a far more difficult time adjusting than he had hoped for.

It wasn't as though he made a habit of drinking, particularly in the points of his life where the potential need for escape was high, seeing it as the crutch it was. However as this day he was shrugging off the remnants of jetlag while fielding the tidal wave of debt collectors that flooded him every time they surfaced in any location, the thought of a good bender was more than welcome. So when Lavi had come banging on the door, half drunk and just as crazy, shouting at Cross about bars and booze and women, he had been happy to come along, to the surprise of both redheads.

So several pints and a few bills he really didn't want to think about, as it would kill his delightful buzz, later he had flopped down face first and bare assed on his bed and dropped into sleep like a stone.

Until the terrible sound of his phone wrenched him from it minutes later.

He was a light sleeper, one didn't grow up in the shit and piss of society without developing the appropriate instincts, as a lack of such would cease all aging in the charming form of _death_. Clawing his way up from the bliss he had finally managed to deal with no doubt another fucking collector, '_just fuck off please'_ he begged, digging through his discarded cloths before remembering that he had tossed his phone in the waste bin before leaving with Lavi, because really, fuck them all. _'I had finally gotten to sleep.'_

Allen was not a rude person by habit. Inherently, by nature and by necessity, he was a mean, nasty little son of a bitch, but by chosen design he had cultured himself into a sweet, polite, courteous young man. And as a sweet, polite, courteous young man, who was shaking off a delightful buzz he had been cultivating for the past few hours, he felt the need to scold himself for the crass language and inhospitable tone used with the man on the other end of the line. Unfortunately his gentlemanly mask was as buzzed as the rest of him, and really didn't give a fuck.

And here he was, tossing on a new set of cloths that didn't smell like larger and tobacco, willing himself to find the energy, wit, and patience for just a little while longer.

Trying to tug on a boot produced an irate sound, like a broken car alarm. "What? Tim!" He removed his foot from the shoe and dug in with his hand, scooping out a small blonde ball of soft fur and teeth. "Well, if you don't want me squishing you don't sleep in my boot." He said to the crabbing sugar glider. The animal uncurled itself from its ball and adjusted its position to grab his thumb in its tiny clawed hands, looking at him with large dark eyes in its creamy face. "I have to go out again," he explained as he set Tim down on his bed, "I'll be back soon."

The reply he got was a sudden impact of small animal on the back of his shirt. "Tim, get off." He reached around, but the glider had already climbed up to his shoulder. "Tim, really, I have to go. Stay here." He grabbed at it, but Tim just jumped from his hand back to his shirt, disappearing in his breast pocket. "Tim, I'm serious, you aren't allowed in the bars." But when he reached into his pocket all he got was a sharp nip on his fingers. "Ouch. You little, Fine!" he tugged the shirt over his head and threw it in the cage, snapping the door shut. "Stay in there then, if you wont listen."

Tim barked from the folds of the shirt, rustled, then settled in to no doubt return to sleep.

Allen huffed, pulling on another shirt, then finished his boots and set about making himself presentable for company.

_IA_

The apartment was a tired looking square among many unfortunate buildings on a nasty little street crowded with pitiful looking people. Pockmarked with bullet wounds and decorated over every reachable surface with graffiti, overlapping each other until it all smeared into indecipherable squiggles and blobs, the residents long ago giving up trying to keep the walls clean. One particularly enterprising individual had managed to spray in eye searing pink a large crude depiction of an erect penis all the way up the two stories to the roof. With a smiley face on the head.

He idled by the curb and text Allen to let him know he had arrived.

No sooner had he sent the message did a person emerge from the dark entryway, the security gate long since busted and the overhead light littering the sidewalk in broken pieces. Even from across the street he recognized the long, lanky young man from the photos. It wasn't a person one could mistake.

He had to be the palest human around with blood still pulsing through his veins. His hair was the stark, glowing white of sunbleached bone and as Kanda unfolded himself from the car to greet him he saw his eyes, darkened to almost black in the shadows, were a metallic gray color that shone silver as moon dust in the streetlight.

"What the fucking hell kind of haircolor is that? Fucking freak."

"Well hello to you too," Allen said, eyebrows raised in amused curiosity, as if he'd come across some strange new discovery, "it matches my thatch."

"Like I care about your damn accessorizing." he had noticed that, indeed, everything the pale man wore matched his wraith-like appearance, from the silky long sleeve button down to the loose fitting slacks giving his legs a shapeless pencil-thin look. He cut a surreal white line against the dark street. Allen just chuckled, as though enjoying a joke. Kanda did not like being the object of anyone's amusement, most certainly not this infuriating person he had come to hate from a single phonecall. "The fuck ever, just get in the car."

Now **that**got a different reaction, as the man sobered and gazed at the car apprehensively. It was a small car, compact bordering mini, and beaten to all hell and back from Kanda's less than docile driving habits.

"How'sabout we just walk?" he offered, turning his smile back on and jutting a thumb in the direction one assumed they would be going.

Kanda, who did not see a damned thing wrong with his trashed toy car, scowled. "Why?" he forced through his teeth.

"Because two am on OBT on a Saturday night is the one place and time you'll ever find a fifteen minute walk become a forty minute drive."

"You've never driven in Tokyo." the Asian replied.

"True that, but it's midnight rush-hour all the same, so let's get on."

"I'm not leaving my car out here to be stripped."

Allen glanced again at what looked to be the remains of a forcibly compact car with a raised brow, but shrugged and directed him to the carparks in the rear of the complex, then turned on a heel and walked back across the street.

Kanda swore at the loss of time, and again at the skinny white bastard who could obviously have given him directions from _inside_ the car _driving_ there, and then just swore, for the hell of it. Because: **Fuck**! Just. Fuck.

Fuck.

He kicked a tire with his scuffed black Docs and slammed back into the car, a car that did **not** look that bad. It had survived fucking traffic in Japan, and everybody had a couple dents and scratches, it was a city for fucks sake, he just didn't bother buffing them out. Waste of money. It was just a machine. It still ran fine, sort of. Sometimes. Sure it was a little moody in the morning, but that just gave it personality, and a good fight had always been a perfect way for him to start the day.

And what the fuck kind of apartments had carports in this trashy neighborhood? Locks just meant you had something you wanted to keep safe, which meant you had something to steal.

He turned into what was obviously a side alley, no matter how you looked at it, and barely managed to squeeze his undersized car around the corner where thoroughly abused metal reflected along the wall, graffiti continued around the building to announce the various imaginative, impossible, or illegal sexual appetites of the residents. It looked like a less than reputable storage facility. One door was warped at hood level and two others were completely missing.

He pulled up to slot 14 where the irritating little white-boy was crouched, fiddling with the lock. "The owners of the building remodeled two apartments to make these." he rose and pat the door. "my roommate and I don't have a car so it's mostly used for storage, your Beatle should fit." he grabbed the handle and yanked, the slabs of metal sliding up fluidly on well-oiled gears.

Kanda scoffed, mumbling 'not a beetle' under his breath and ignored the grin that meant the asshole heard him, but pulled in all the same, killing the engine and squeezing out, bumping into some boxes on his way. He keyed the lock and gave the structure a once over. The place was packed, but in a neatly organized way, ruthlessly, almost obsessively arranged like stones in the walls of an ancient fortress.

He turned to duck out when something white caught his gaze. Tucked in the back corner surrounded by boxes and barely covered in a stingy protective tarp the size of a beach towel was a bike as smooth and slender as a silver bullet, gleaming almost invitingly in the dingy fluorescent light. From the angle he couldn't figure the make of it, but nothing he did catch eye of resembled anything he knew.

"Thought you said you didn't have a car," he commented.

"What? Oh that, it's not a car it's a crotch rocket, and it doesn't work." Allen quickly shut the gate again. "It was a gift from my father, just another Kerbside ornament is all. Can't quite get rid of it." he snapped the lock in place and walked away. End of discussion.

Kanda frowned, but followed.

The walk to the line of pubs was indeed very short, and Allen was pleased to note it was also very silent. Not to say Yu Kanda wasn't pleasant company, but pissed as he was he'd tell just about anyone where they could get off, even a talent such as he-who-walked-beside-him.

He was something all right, a Good six foot plus stretched out into a long, lean, well-muscled body. Pure solid Asian, from the heavy accent to the waterfall of dark, glossy, hair tied ruthlessly on the top of his head spilling down past his waist and grazing the hem of his jeans, and oh did those jeans do justice to that bum. He'd have planned to tap off anyone with an ass like that.

Kanda kept pace with him perfectly, a scowl tugging at the edge of a generous mouth, lips firming with every short chime, his muscled shoulders constantly tense from the anticipation of a new alert and he continually checked his phone, swearing under his breath. Mostly various interpretations on the word 'fuck'. Just his luck Lavi would set up this meet and get him messy right before hand, the git. He tried to keep quiet, but the frustrated scowl just made him want to reach up and take a bite from those lips.

"Why didn't you report it stolen?" he asked when the silence began to chaff at him. Kanda paused in putting his phone back, scoffed.

"I want to hunt him down and kill him myself."

"You couldn't call up and ask for a list of recent transactions? Get the location of the bar?"

"It's a matter of pride." he answered. "I'm a cop, I can follow a trail." even if his bank account limped along afterword.

"You're mate pinched your card and you're first thought as a cop is deductive reasoning?"

"No, my first thought as a cop is where my gun is and whether I should bring it or strangle him with my bare hands." They turned onto the street, crowded with cars and people; it was two am, why the fuck weren't these people in bed? International was one thing, that was tourist central, but this street was nothing but natives with nothing better to do then sit at bars, complaining about the economy while pissing away what little money they did make on cheap alcohol. Someone bumped his shoulder and he snarled. "The fuck are there this many people?" he demanded, shoving his way through.

"I told you, most bars and clubs close at 2, so its party-dump out here. As a cop you should really know this." Allen apologized to the people they pushed through. "And that was a bus stop, so they were waiting there for a reason."

"Fucking bus doesn't run this late."

"A couple do, yes. And even if they didn't, it's a popular spot to wait for a ride, seeing as it has a bench and such." They paused in the shadow of a closed restaurant, where a few people hardly legal sat against the wall nursing a can of bud between them. Kanda kicked one in the foot. Figuring the quicker he started the faster he could get the hell out of the crowd.

"What you want?" the trashed youth demanded in a slur, blinking up at him as if the dim trickle of the dingy street lamp hurt his eyes. His slacken, drunken face split into a hopeful grin. "Oh hey pretty lady, want to party?" Kanda kicked him again.

"I'm looking for an idiotic redhead with an eyepatch," he snapped out, "with some other fucker, probably drunk, loud, and grabby with the girls."

The man scrunched up his face in total concentration before giving a shrug. "Sorry." He said, then leered. "Whats wrong, your boyfriend ditch you? Awww, that's okay, we can take you home. Right guys?" one of his companions managed a grunt, attention fully on the can in his hands, the other appeared to have passed out. Allen managed to pull Kanda away before he took his frustration out on the obvious target. "That your plan mister detective, asking every drunk you find if they saw a leggy redhead with an eyepatch?"

"Yes, and if you don't have any better ideas fuck off." He shoved him aside and proceeded to interrogate a group of college girls, with the same results and provocative invitations.

"Well actually I do have," but Kanda was moving to the next set, he had to rush to keep up. "Hey, look. I know some of the people who work the bars and clubs, I can ask them. It'll be easier."

"And what about you?" Kanda turned from the girl he was asking to her male companion. "you see anybody like that?"

"Nope."

Realizing Kanda wasn't listening he grabbed his shoulder and jerked him down. "Listen, don't you think the bars would be the best choice to look?" Kanda bit off his oath and glared. "They see everyone that comes and goes, they'll remember- HEY!" Kanda shook him off and stormed up the steps to the first club he saw and badged the bouncer, asking his now standard question.

The bulky man flicked an eye at the badge, then at Kanda, sizing him up in an instant, then back towards a middle aged man in a wrinkled business suit trying to slip his way inside. "Never saw them." He said curtly, before grabbing the man by the collar and pulling him close. "Didn't I throw you far enough last time Michael?"

Kanda gnashed his teeth, turning on his heel and storming back to the sidewalk as Mr. Michael flew like a trash bag back towards the parking lot. He hit the crosswalk at the exact time the light changed and crossed to the next bar without breaking his stride. Allen, torn between amusement and indignation, sat down on an unoccupied separation wall and watched the man work.

It was interesting, the watching of it. He had a powerful presence, the wide shoulders with powerful almost military stance, and firm set of his jaw. His long legs ate the distance between each bar and club in moments, he stepped smoothly into the paths of patrons when he managed to catch one or two this side of sober. The question wasn't always the same, but it was always short, obvious details. Tall, slim, red hair, eyepatch. He wasted no time asking about Cross, Allen didn't think he knew what the man looked like.

The security was another matter, as the badge got their attention and their backs up. Allen saw a few flick a glance his way, but he didn't bother with any indication as to how they should proceed. He was disappointed when Kanda let if fall as each gave a negative answer, never requested entrance or pushed further. Too pissed to catch a scent perhaps, or lacking instincts. Such a waste, all that energy and no way to use it. Perhaps cops weren't as clever as the books made them out to be.

He was a joy to watch nonetheless, pretty, which wasn't Allen's usual meal of choice, and a little girlish with his dark slanted eyes and sharp triangular face shadowed by razor straight bangs across a strong forehead. He also had terrible taste in clothes, was even wearing a long black trench coat in this muggy summer heat.

"You really are that inept aren't you?" Allen snarked from his place by the lightpost when Kanda came back once again with no answers. The look he got could curdle milk. "These people aren't going to tell a cop about a customer, especially if it's Cross. He's a regular, and a high paying one at that. You think they'll risk losing him?"

"I'm not looking for any fucking Cross. I'm look for that idiot rabbit." He snapped.

"Who is with Cross, really you aren't very good at this are you?"

"Fuck off," This guy was an annoying fucking waste of time; he didn't even know why he was even there if he wasn't going to be useful. "You're the one who said ask the fucking bouncers." Kanda shoved his hands in his pockets, the night was warm and humid but he never left the house without his jacket, people tended to freak when they saw his gun, which was so very annoying.

"Correction, I said to ask the people inside the bars, not flash your badge and start interrogating. People tell you much more when they're relaxed and comfortable around you."

"yeah, sure, I have all the time in the world to sit and talk with a bunch of stupid servers, and hey maybe they'll answer my question in between trying to sell me their brother's home brew and complaining about the drunk who hit on them. Fucking genius. You should be a cop." His phone chimed again and he swore, removing it from his pocket.

"I'll think about it." Reaching out a hand, fast as a striking snake, he nipped the device.

"The fuck are you doing?" Kanda tried to grab it back but Allen easily dodged, he tapped at the screen with a well-manicured finger, pleased to note that Kanda had either already unlocked it, or not bothered turning it back on with the frequency that he was pulling it out.

"If you don't want to follow the money, then the least you could do is follow your witness."

"You said you didn't know where they were." Kanda snatched at his phone, Allen evaded smooth as a dancer and tapped backward a few paces in the direction of the private clubs, pressing keys on the phone's screen.

"I said I don't know where they are _currently_, I do, however, have friends in the business who might."

"Give me my phone back, asshole, That's police property."

"I'm so scared. Arrest me." He tapped a little more, eyes peeking over the device to watch Kanda stride after him. The man moved fast, nearly had him by the arm but he stepped forward and to the side, just beyond the angle of his reach and had slid around him to his back before he could switch the momentum. "You're not very good at this." He repeated when he once again easily dodged a grab. "It's actually quite cute, the whole pissed off helpless act. Lavi said he'd set us up, since we've never been introduced even though we share more than a few friends."

Kanda surprised him by twisting suddenly and caught him by the forearm. Spun them, and pressed him, hard, face first up against the wall of some closed down fast food joint.

"You think you can just insult me without consequences, asshole?" Like hell he was going to be listening to this bastard's opinions all night.

"Well I've yet to see one, so yeah." He attempted to twist away, Kanda pressed against him with more force to keep him still and followed the line of his arm down to his hand where the phone was, "You plan on doing something fun with those hand's samurai? Because if not, I'd highly suggest removing them.

"Or you'll what?" He had him pinned to the wall, both hands behind his back now, though the phone was nowhere to be found and Kanda was getting seriously pissed. "I don't give two shits whose friend you are, if the Usagi planned anything it's none of my business, but it _**is **_my money and like hell I'm going to be made a fool of so show me where he is or I'll slice you to fucking pieces." He hadn't been expecting Allen to kick his legs out from under him, and that sudden move barely left time for his reflexes to sweep them around so Kanda landed on top, pinning the albino beneath him. "Fuck!"

Allen gave him no time to orient himself before he elbowed him in the collar, scissored his legs, and rolled to reverse their positions. "Don't ever try and fucking pin me." He rasped against Kanda's cheek, elbow still connected to his throat, a knee pressed dangerously against his groin. Kanda stilled at the applied pressure, but the buildup of fury only expanded.

"Get. Off." He bit the words with a snap of white teeth.

"I don't like to be manhandled." the shorter man kept his tone and gaze that same cold steel, "I would appreciate it greatly if you would respect that."

Kanda contemplated his response, as much as he'd enjoy utterly destroying the skinny little fucker the joints pressed to his anatomy were not to be overlooked.

Accepting a form of vengeance he nodded, letting the man remove himself from his person and stand before kicking a foot out and catching him in the stomach.

Allen doubled over with a windy groan.

Satisfied with himself Kanda stood and dusted himself off. "I don't like to be touched either." He answered, walking in the direction of the next club. He listened with no small amount of glee to the wheezing expletives, but couldn't quite make out their nonsensical meaning. British swears, in his not so inexperienced opinion, always came off too cutesy to be taken seriously.

Allen finally managed to stand correctly, palm flat against his abdomen, and shuffle rather pathetically forward. He was glad he hadn't brought Tim as the little guy may have been squished just then, or attack Kanda in his defense. Well, he had kind of deserved that, but he just wanted to see if the man had the reflexes his profession demanded. He chuckled. Lavi could be right, they may end up not getting on at all. Though he considered the situation and his uncharacteristic blood alcohol level at least partially to blame.

With a sigh he decided that cutting their association for the night to an efficient business hour would go a long way to keeping them on amiable terms. He wasn't nearly drunk enough, not at all, to deal with such abrasiveness. Rubbing a hand across his middle and hoping he couldn't have a bruise, or worse a breakout. He watched the indignant swing of the Asian's long dark ponytail, quite the distance away, and smiled. As long as he had the phone, the man couldn't just walk away. He wondered how long he'd have to sit here before he came stomping back.

Up ahead Kanda stormed across the pavement, shoving past drunk partiers and their sober rides, counting the concrete squares in the sidewalk. The whole night was fucked, he could see that plain as anything, and what was worse was the very believable possibility that Lavi had set this whole thing up. For what? So they could meet? Hadn't he told Lavi that he wasn't going to get involved with the investigation? Hadn't he told everybody?

He was only here to help Tiedoll with the new recruit, he had his own cases to work after all, he didn't need to be involved in some damn undercover op on an old traitor.

He knew what it was like, after all, to hate the Order. He wasn't hypocritical enough to hunt down someone who had the courage to do what he still couldn't.

_IA_

"See, I know the bar they were at when I last saw them, and the woman who runs it might know where they went." Allen explained as they walked together down the street, the crowd was thinning and they could move easily without stepping off the sidewalk into the street to get by. "I sent a message on your mobile while I was waiting for your head to cool, she said to meet her there and she'll see what she can do." He handed back the phone to a murderous looking Kanda, completely disregarding the dark aura, they had stopped in front of a gentleman's club labeled the Doll House.* "it's this up here." He thumbed the air towards the elegant entryway of the club, guarded by busty sirens, sitting on either side of the door on pedestals, a trident in one hand raised victoriously towards the sky, heads tossed back in open mouthed wonder, manes of hair tumbling down backs to curl along the proud voluptuous fins. "It's a private club, they won't let you in without a membership. Best to wait here."

He almost asked why a boy who looked so young would be allowed entrance, then snapped his mouth shut with a click of teeth, because he didn't care. He didn't want anything to do with this, so it didn't matter, and as soon as he got his card and revenge on that idiot red head he could give the brat the beating he deserved for the stunt he pulled. Until then he breathed in and out, watching the young man disappear inside, the sudden glow from the blacklight inside lit him up like a scorpion before the door closed and Kanda was left on the porch like an idiot.

He spent the time consoling himself with ways he could enact his vengeance. Almost smiling when he got to the part of boiled rabbit stew served with a side of something suspiciously white.

_IA_

The name may have been Doll House but Barbie was a long way from what you got when you walked in. The décor was a blend of the elegant 19th century gentleman's study and the smoky aired secrets of an opium den. Silk papered walls and satin curtains, wood tables scrubbed to a gleam and protected with enough clear sealant it may as well be caged in glass. The bar on the back wall was a wooden behemoth left over from the days of saloons and swinging doors, French as Napoleon's seed and a proud and true work of art. The stage was reminiscent of the roaring 20s where the girls, when it suited them, performed pieces in sheer clothing, or nothing at all. Otherwise they made their living removing what polite society demanded be kept on for the enjoyment of the drunk, bored, and lonely.

The waiters roamed the floor in provocative tailcoats, waists ruthlessly cinched and busts heroically lifted with the magic's only the truly skilled and tragically undergifted could perfect. It was a clean place with healthy bodies and charming souls, and as it approved of and enforced Orlando's 'hands off' code of conduct the girls never feared for themselves.

Allen hadn't told Kanda the entire truth, or rather had selected to omit the parts that he knew would create more of a scene than was necessary. The most recent of it had been that he could have entered the establishment as his guest, as the owner of the Doll House, Anita, was a dear friend of his Master's and had the tendency to dote on them both. The most pressing was that Lavi and Cross were still on site, and rather pathetically drunk.

He was led through the building by a good friend of his, Mahoja, head of security and the owner's personal bodyguard. She was an enormous woman at six three and near two hundred pounds in muscle, Chinese, and bald as a monk. She wore a beautiful qipao in bold colors that bared her arms and showed off her impressive biceps. Allen loved her, respected her, and was just a little afraid of her.

It was a smoking club, which is why Cross frequented it more than any other, and the girls who were off duty would sit with him and watch the girls who were on. Allen didn't know if he ever actually paid for sex, considering how many women he got for free, but he knew he paid well for everything else so really it was kind of the same thing. The haze wasn't all from tobacco, as the club used several discrete fog machines to keep the illusion of enclosed privacy. Most of the colored lights were off and the overheads were blared on full, giving everything a cloudy, otherworldly feel.

A few drunks too far gone to shamble out were draped over the cushions of booths and couches waiting for the taxis Anita insisted on calling for anyone too drunk to drive and too alone to bum a ride with anyone else. The club picked up the tab, though they didn't advertise this else they'd be left with every drunk on the stip.

Tables were wiped down and chairs were turned up, trash littered the floor and puddles of spilled drinks and body fluids that escaped the custodial service's notice in the dim lights of operating hours were plainly visible. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and musk were barely masked by sweet perfume and the crisp citrus of cleaning chemicals. Whatever they had been playing earlier that night, the thrumming, pulsing bass that had rocked him on his heels when he had entered it with Lavi and Cross hours ago, was turned to a soft whisper of jazz, which meant Sachiko pulled in the most money that night and got to choose the closing music.

Speaking of, the curvaceous redhead in her delicate pink kimono was cuddled up with Lavi on a daybed off in a private corner. On the V shaped couch across from it was his Master Cross, with a considerable number of the off duty girls giggling at whatever he was regaling them with.

"Well, you two sure got messy." He stood before them with hands on his hips, Mahoja crossed her arms behind him and watched him with amusement.

"Allen! Hey, Chomesuke, have you met my little buddy Allen? Isn't he cute?" Lavi shouted and tried to untangle his legs from themselves to get up and possibly hug said 'little budy.' Sachiko seemed to be struggling to talk around her laughter.

"Yes, Lavi, I've known Allen for a long time." She helped him uncross his legs and sit up, where he proceeded to throw his arms around her in a great drunken embrace.

"Chomesuke?" Allen raised both eyebrows.

"What? You don't think it's cute?" She asked, happy to continue being Lavi's personal pillow. "It's the nickname Lavi gave me." At Allen's continued stare she pouted, stating sulkily, "I think it's cute."

"Hey idiot, did you ever exchange those trash pounds for real money? The dancers don't accept plastic." On the opposite couch, nestled into the very center angle of the Vh, sat his guardian Cross Marian.

He turned from Lavi and his new snuggle buddy to glance at his guardian. Unlike Lavi, who was a tall, thin, boyish young man with wild hair that stuck up and curled over in many varied directions, Cross was an elegant gentleman, his hair longer, past his shoulders, and a much deeper red. Where Lavi had a simple black eye patch his Master hid his secrets behind a plain white mask that concealed the right half of his face. Plain, that is, save the cross running through the eye."It's past closing, why do you need money?"

"We were going to have us a private party." Cross had placed his favorite hat on one of the girls draped across him and now tucked a knuckle under her chin to lift her face, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. She giggled and burrowed further into his jacket. Allen felt mildly ill from the display.

"I can spare a pony, you'll have to break it yourself." He stated, turning around to Mahoja he thumbed the direction of the bar. She jerked her head in a nod and went to total the bill.

"What? 25 is all you got?"

"No, but I have to settle your bill, now shove off." He turned back to Lavi, who was giggling somewhere among the pillows of the daybed, intending to retrieve the stolen property of one pissed off police officer.

"Give me a 50."

He momentarily forgot his little mission with the indignant rage of his depleted wallet."I'm not wasting half a ton on your womanizing habits!" He spat.

"Like you can't spare it with yesterday's pay."

Allen felt a muscle tic, but dug into his pocket for a handful of bills. He turned to Mahoja when she came back, **so** more than ready to get out of here. He still had to wrestle the card from Lavi and convince Kanda not to tear the place apart in pursuit of revenge when he realizes his prey is just beyond the doors. "so are we talking telephone numbers or is the price reasonably manageable."

"It's good, only a couple hundred, the Boss says they can crash in the suites until morning. Sachi- I mean, Chomesuke" She looked at the gooey couple making out with a smirk, "Is staying over too."

Allen bit his lip as he watched one of his good friends playing tonsil hockey with another. There really was no conceivable level of awkward. He knew Sachiko since they were kids. This was why he didn't follow them into the Doll House, too many of the girls were too well known to him. It didn't help that he had absolutely no interest in seeing a topless woman, friend or otherwise.

He passed her his, untraceable, prepaid card and prepared himself for separating the fused gingers.

"Lavi, Yu Kanda is here." He began after a moment of thought.

"Yu-chan?" he broke away and stood up so fast he tripped over his, and Sachiko's, entangled legs. "Yu-chan is here?' He looked around wildly "Yu-chan! Hey, Yu-Chan come out! I want you to meet someone!" Sachiko and Allen struggled to help the flailing man stand. "Yu-chan, I want you to meet Allen! And Chomesuke, They're both really cute yeah? But Chomesuke's mine, so you can only have Allen, because I don't swing that way even though he's way cute and would totally be worth it but he has no boobs, like not even an A cup, and Chomesuke has really nice ones and she lets me touch them."

"Okay, you can go back to kissing him now Sachiko, before that guy hears him through the walls and breaks down the door to kill him."

"Oh, hey Allen, do you know Chomesuke, she's the greatest isn't she?"

"Yes Lavi, she's great. Now how about you hand over the card you have so I can keep your friend from killing you." They had managed to wrestle him back onto the cushions and Allen held his hand out expectantly. "He's been tearing ass all night looking for you, and I think he's armed."

"He's always armed." Lavi snickered. "Careful Allen, or his special arm will get you. Cute kid like you would be just the thing he needs." Allen rolled his eyes.

"Yeah Lavi, we're totally going to go to his place and have wild, unprotected sex, then I'll get pregnant and bear him three sons. Now give me the card. I'm tired and I need a sugar hit."

"Are you low?" Mahoja came back with his card and receipt. "I'll get you a cola, hold on."

"Thanks, but I'd rather get my friends card and head home."

"Boy give the kid the card before I make you scrub the floors to pay for the room. You know what drunks do to bar floors every night? I'll be back with a soda." And she was gone back to the bar in her surprisingly silent steps over the hard wood floor. Lavi pouted, but dug through his pockets for the flimsy plastic that had been such an adventure to acquire.

Allen met Mahoja back at the entrance, excepted the plastic cup of fizzing brown liquid and tried to resist running his tongue over his teeth in trepidation. The headache skulking behind his eyes persuaded him that the battle ahead was best faced without a sugar attack, and he downed it in three gulps. Took a deep breath, and exited the building to face the wrath of a vengeful samurai.

_IA_

Allen sighed when he circled back to his building. He hated how there was no entrance near the carparks, those last few steps felt like forever, but he managed to drag himself to the busted security gate and up to his door. He owned the entire right side of the second and third floors, and he was fairly certain the apartment opposite his was vacant since that one guy got evicted.

Every bone and muscle throbbed in time with the pounding in his head. He hadn't eaten in three hours, he had spent a monkey and more on booze and women that night and hadn't enjoyed much of either, and he was fairly certain the corrosive contents of that soda were jack hammering their way through the enamel of his teeth.

Entering the wide open space of the front room he kicked off his boots, crossed to the kitchen, and searched desperately for his glucose tablets. He took it with a shot of bottled spring water, shuddering at the chalky taste as he chewed, and managed to drag himself to his personal space.

They had rented out half of the stingy square building, the entire top floor and two of the second directly below. Working out a deal with the owner they knocked out walls, smashed through the roof of the bottom two, and made themselves a high class condo from the mess that remained.

The stairs to his rooms were agony, but he managed. Tim was moving around in his cage, having slept half the night away. He would be disappointed to learn that the sun would be up in three hours.

With care to both their eyes he drew the heavy drapes over the blinds before opening the door and letting the golfball sized marsupial loose in his room.

"You wake me up Tim," he warned as he opened the jar of turtle treats and gave him a small dose of freeze dried mealworms, "and you can forget those flowers we saw down at the supermarket yesterday. You'll just have to get your pollen from a bag like the rest of us."

Timcampy barked in what Allen hoped was agreement.

He sighed as he moved to the professional vanity and began cleaning off his tattoo concealer with a hypoallergenic makeup remover. Then looked at himself in the mirror, a little worn, a little strained, skin a little pink from the gentle rubbing but he didn't think a breakout would occur. Just in case, he grabbed his lotion and applied the barest amount to his face.

In his personal opinion he didn't look too bad. Sure his scar was absolutely hideous, with its ragged unnatural shape, flushed almost angry red instead of the more natural silver pink, and the inverted pentacle hidden beneath his bangs.

He supposed it could have been worse. He could have been holding up a tree or gingerbread when the accident occurred. Or a heart. Yes, a star was definitely more preferable, in comparison.

He tapped the lotion on the counter once in a decisive, absent way, and then placed it, too, in its proper place.

He removed the scleral shell from his eye and placed it back in its solution, then snapped the lip and returned the case to the shelf with all the others, it was the only singular color of all the lenses. His natural smoky gray.

Then removed the eyedrops and made use of that.

Yes, he could look worse, for the damage that incident caused. And only the one scar in plain view, he could count himself fortunate the world saw nothing but a charming, delicate boy, even if he could only look back at it with one silver eye.

Blinking rapidly, thoroughly wetting his scarred, white, useless eye with the medicated drops, he left the vanity, dark and impeccable, and ruthlessly clean.

With careful fingers he pressed the release for his advanced prosthetic and gently slid his arm free of the sensitive gel cushioned interior. Placing that in its case in the nightstand drawer he stripped his cloths, tossed them in the hamper, and slid naked between his cool, soft sheets.

It had been an interesting night, perhaps if one thought of it in a way an interesting start to the morning. He both felt and heard Tim thump down on the bed, turned on his back to stare at his ceiling as the small animal scurried about his covered legs.

The shadows of his mind were restless, he could feel Neah shift and stretch, practically beneath his skin. Closing his eyes he ordered himself to sleep, and dropped into it as obediently as he had since he was a child.

_IA_

*Thee Doll House is a topless gentlemans club on S. OBT in Orlando Fl, its Sleek and Stylish, and while not formal certainly a class up from the sex clubs most people imagine. In this AlternateUniverse many things change, and the DollHouse is one of them. This representation is in no way an accurate depiction of the real Dollhouse, and in fact I have gone out of my way to restyle the building and establishment entirely, making it near fictional excepting the name and business.

Well everyone I certainly hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I'll confess it's taken me a bit longer than most stories, as the research was killer, and the characters difficult to maneuver in this world. Many of the original scripting was torn apart, spaced out, fixed up, or outright replaced. This is sad because there's some terrific dialogue and descriptions I've taken out because it didn't fit or would make the scenes too wordy which I've been trying to curb as wordiness is a bad habit of mine, returning readers should know this.

The summary of the story is a warning against heating Antimony Sulfide too hot by Vannoccio Biringuccio. Stibarsen is mostly made up of Antimony and Arsenic, making it very pretty, but also brittle and dangerous to handle.

I've spent the last six months scouring the internet for information on this fic, from finder the perfect explanation for Allen's condition to creating the greatest 2012 super villain apocalypse ever, and it's totally feasible, to just the basic studies on the alchemical and elemental references I'm using, and uncountable hours in the library and old science and chemistry texbooks I found at the goodwill and other thrift stores, looking for some interesting snippet of fact or comment from some expert that I could use as the chapter summaries.

Eventually I realized that not everybody could be like Biringuccio, throwing out epic quotes like a Hollywood action hero, only with far more random explosions and less half naked chicks (probably).

Science is epic fucking shit but the people who study it are usually so very not. If I wanted something good, as usual I was going to have to make it myself. That really is kind of the point of fanfiction though isn't it?

So most of those witty, wise, and whimsical tidbits at the beginning of each chapter are simply me being all cryptic and poetic and shit about fairly non intriguing facts on the elements that the chapters are named after.

Which brings us to my little game:

This fic is 14 chapters long, no prologue, no epilogue. Each chapter is named after the first 14 chemicals of the periodic table, each Noah is named after an element group but we'll get into that later, and begins with a "quote," created by me, which summarizes the chapter. Now, if each chapter is named after an element, and each quote summarizes the chapter, then it makes sense that each quote is also relevant to the element right? So here's your homework, state what each summary is saying about the element.

Each correct answer gets one point, totaling in 14 points in all. Whoever has the most points at the end of the fic gets a oneshot (Or fanart, I'm a fairly decent artist) of their choosing.

The first few are easy. It gets harder with every update. So get reading people, I've spent months researching this fucking fic and damn it you're all going to learn you some science!


	2. Helium

I am very disappointed. Noone got the first quote? It was a comparison between the joining of two people to create a relationship, of any kind, and Hydrogen's rather unique makeup of a single proton and a single electron. Our relationships are the very foundation of society, be it friendship, love, hatred, rivalry, it makers our interactions what they are. And the same with Hydrogen, one of the foundations of all life, reacting differently as it comes in contact with other elements just as human relations do. Two things coming together to create something more.

Well, I made Helium exceedingly simple. You only have to look as far as ChemistryDOTcom to find the answer, well you really only have to go there for about half of these if you know how to solve a riddle. So I guess the more appropriate term would be you don't have to look very hard on chemistrydotcom.

2.) Helium

_The application of pressure at just the right moment and even the most resistant of elements fold to your will.  
><em>  
><em><strong>VIIIA<strong>_

Allen dreamed of the cold.

Above him float two waxing moons, bright and round, the darkness a splinter crescent shadowing their underbellies. Beneath the wall a waning moon reflected in the silver ice polished to the gleam of a mirror, its dark face looking fully at him, the white shying away from view as if afraid.

His bare toes curled against the obsidian stone of the bridge that extended forever behind him, that stretched eternally onwards. The outer wall of a vast fortress that now sat beneath the frozen waters surrounding him, its reflection a line of black zipper teeth. Stitches holding the two halves of the ice together.

He was so cold. So cold.

His naked body, nothing but jutting bones and hallow angles, had reached the point beyond shuddering and let the chill sponge into him uncontested. It was a small, fragile, skeletal looking thing, his body, perhaps five or six years old, but free of the grit and grime that had clothed him more than anything in those days, scrubbed clean, down to the rusted flecks of dried blood under his nails. His skin was fresh and unsoiled as any small innocent child save for the severity of his emaciation, pale as the white world around him, flushed at the joints from the cold.

He walked forward, on legs thin as dry twigs and stiff with cold, the bleached sky ceaseless, the black castle wall unending, the water always frozen. Never moving. Sometimes he whistled, sometimes he hummed, a sweet sound he knew well. It made the journey seem less lonesome, the darkness behind him less threatening, the uncertainty ahead less dangerous. He didn't sing, he hadn't sung in so long. So it was with some surprise that he heard the words to the song. He lifted his head, if he stared only at the stone path he wouldn't have to question why two moons gave one reflection in a white, white world, and looked around but there was no one in sight.

_The golden bird he gave to me, what happiness he brings. Like a star on a Christmas tree as the nightingale sings._

That was definitely a child's voice, high and slightly tuneless as the singer fumbled for the rhythm and pitch. On a whim he glanced over the edge, down at the ice, and saw reflected there a vision from his past.

The scent of the grove, the gentle breeze, the warm summer day. All around them danced the high grass heavy with seed, the sun was hot on his skin and the air heavy with moisture, but they danced and sang in the shadow of the trees. His small body still so dangerously thin. Had it been long since they had run from that unmoving circus? No, just beyond the reach of their former proprietor, up away from the rotting streets of south London towards the heart of England, they would run until they were sure no one would follow, but for now they were only as far as Fortune Green, in a grassy opening of the trees in West Heath park. Later they would walk the trail to Leg of Mutton pond, Mana making promises of dears and birds and other such animals, which Allen sniffed at, but hadn't been able to mask the look of awe and joy when they had reached the enclosure and he saw the huge, gentle beasts for the first time. Their circus was barely two ranks up from a simple fair and the closest they had to an animal show were the dogs that dug scraps from the trash bins.

They hitched a ride from there up to Barnet where they rested for the night in a small hotel, sharing a single simple bed where Allen slept for the first night in his life knowing the man beside him wouldn't ask anything of his body.

_And so we sat, hand in hand and watched the fireflies, and never spoke a single word but lived to do or die. We lived to do or die_

He reached out to brush his fingertips across the milky reverie. It was cold, frozen, and bit his pinked fingertips like a snapping animal. He pressed his palm flat, then the other, and pushed. He wanted that. He wanted to go back to that. The warmth and the sweetness, he wanted to dance and laugh and sing for the first time in his life all over again, he wanted to eat until he was too full and swing around in the large man's arms shrieking until he was sick. He raised his hand and brought it down. "No." he said, slapping at the ice.

_The branches bent like an archers bow as he spread his wings, and flew beneath the gentle snow, as the nightingale sings._

The phantom memories of that summer day danced beneath his slapping hands until they became fists, beating against the barrier, the song fading, panic rising in his throat. "No. Don't. Don't go. Come back." He cried, hitting the ice until his hands were scrapped and sore, until warm blood smeared across the cream of its surface. His vision blurred even as the apparitions faded, tears of fear and loss.

"_**Allen."**_ A voice behind him called but he ignored it, he always ignored that voice. 

The ice beneath his shredded and bloody hands gave tiny sounds, tiny cracking sounds, and he cried and screamed and grunted with the effort as he pounded hard on its surface.

"_**Allen."**_ He ignored it again, scrambling to lean over the wall, to crawl out onto the ice and into it and under it and go back to that place.

This time arms wrapped around him, hauling him up. He shrieked in rage and terror and grief. "No. No no no no." it was a mantra as he fought and beat and clawed at the man with the darkened face and the crescent smile.

"_**Allen, you have to wake up."**_

And screaming he plummeted back to consciousness, the song of so long ago vibrating through his veins like a heartbeat.

_Back to the days of Avalon, where magic rules as king. The moon beneath the castle walls, as the nightingale sing_

_**VIIIA**_

He came up from the dream gasping. His body was ice, the sharp bite of it prickled his skin. Goosflesh crawled over him and he clutched at his bedside table with frozen fingers. The electric jug he kept on the stand resisted him, but he managed to pour a cup and gulp it greedily, feeling the nausea and dizziness slink slowly back into the recesses of his mind as the minutes passed. His sheets were damp and tangled about his legs like shackles, his comforter folded to his waist as he sat upright, exposing his shivering body to the warm air of a summer morning.

The chills didn't subside, the headache pulsed behind his eyes, but he could think clearly and rubbed at them until the world bled back into focus. His clock said it was 5 in the AM, barely three hours of sleep, uninterrupted three hours in which he had nothing but a glucose tablet, he could feel the hangover on top of the sugar attack and curled back beneath his covers in misery.

"Sorry." He whispered.

"_**That was very close."**_ Neah was a comforting presence in his mind, wrapping him in a metaphysical embrace that pushed the worst of it to the back of his awareness. They lay beneath the covers as one and rode the worst of the pains. _**"How do you feel?"**_

"Perfectly hideous." He whined like a child.

"_**I'd imagine. How about we get something other than vitamin water into you." **_Sluggish, trembling, he forced himself from his bed and shambled on stiff legs to the bathroom.

"After a bath."

His tub was a lake, set into the ground with no lip to keep someone from tripping right into it. The faucet was a series of jets set into the side that filled it in minutes, and would circulate it in wonderful massaging sprays long after if he chose. He did, and reached for the brass valves to regulate the temperature. He could program it from the control panel, but that was all the way across the room and he was already tossing herbs and oils and salts into the empty bowl. Gently he maneuvered the wheels with a careful precision of a chemist.

He wanted to twist the valve all the way over, until the steam curled the hairs on his arms and the water poured brutally hot. He wanted to sink himself into a lake of liquid fire and boil himself lobster red. He knew it wouldn't help this chill that grew from his bones, nothing ever helped. Nothing could bite deep enough, tunnel long enough, cut swift enough to touch the frozen center of him.

Nightmares were not uncommon to a hypoglycemic. The imbalance in the brain, the subconscious reaction to discomfort in the body as it searched for what it needed, the chills and cramps, the nausea, it all translated through the confused struggling brain into a panicked S.O.S.

Ordinarily his alarm would be set to wake him to eat, but he had slept through the warning and the alcohol had already done a number on his system. He was very lucky Neah had woken him before he had slipped into shock.

"_**Some dream huh?"**_

"Hmmn? Oh, was it? I don't really remember." Which also was not an unusual occurrence. He sank into the water with a groan of near sexual pleasure. Christ Jesus but was there ever a more glorious thing than a bath? Oatmeal and tealeaves swam about him and the fragrance of spearmint and lemongrass freshened his nose. He scooped the water up in palms ravaged by the digging of his own nails and let it spill over his neck and shoulders.

"_**It was a bad one, I'm glad you don't remember."**_

"How do I know you aren't just hiding the memory from me?" He picked up the vial of body wash and dabbed a stingy amount on a washcloth softer than a baby's blanket.

"_**You don't."**_ he chuckled and Allen felt a smile tugging at his lips. His chills were subsiding, he longed to escape the pain in his head and the cold in his bones, but new from experience that it would be a while before either faded. Sullenly he pulled his knees to his chest and sank beneath the warm fragrant water.

_**VIIIA**_

"Yu-chan don't be upset with me."

"Being upset requires me to give a fuck." Every head in the room was turned away from the conversation, every ear pretending it wasn't listening. A few diligent workers may have succeeded in actually blocking out the drama, but most were paying close attention.

Lavi was spiff and fresh in his neat black uniform, shiny shoes and perfectly pressed shirt and trousers, even if his hair was a fiery disaster and his face showed signs of extreme dis comfort. Probably from a certain detective's attempts to aggravate the hangover that had made the young officer its obedient bitch. 

"Come on Yu-chan, I said I'll pay you back."

"Which is why I haven't murdered you yet, but I'm starting to rethink that." Kanda despised the arrangement of their desks, he had not yet given up the hunt for whomever had assigned him and Lavi next to each other, but today was momentarily pleased with it as it allowed for his rather juvenile antics. Mainly his careless disregard for spatial awareness as he seemed to be knocking over the piles of books and files and reports that made up Lavi's area of work. Really he just didn't know what was wrong with him today, must be the lack of sleep, he just couldn't stop bumping into things.

With a deranged kind of glee he snapped out an elbow and disrupted the precarious balance of a spiraling tower of cluttered papers and manila folders, whose trajectory of collapse lay in the direct vicinity of a certain miserable rabbit. The fallowing cry was therapeutic to his frayed nerves and he wondered why he didn't do this more often.

Then it hit him.

Rubbing his head he shot a fierce glare through slit eyes at Lenalee who stood beside his desk holding a clipboard in much the way one wielded a weapon. Considering its weight, density, and the fact that it was bulletproof and made frequent contact with his skull the comparison wasn't off.

"What?" He snapped, knowing full well she would scold him for his petty revenge.

"Stop bullying him Kanda, can't you see he's not feeling well?"

"Maybe he'd feel fine if he hadn't spent the night getting shitfaced with my money."

She gave Lavi a reproachful look, who was too busy fusing his hands to his face and despising the very existence of overhead lights to notice. "then do it in a way that doesn't make a mess, you're disturbing everyone else." By 'disturbing' she meant entertaining to the point of distraction, and by 'everyone else' she meant, no that was pretty on the button as several people from other offices had stopped by to see what mild and petty torture Kanda could come up with, having all been on the receiving end of Lavi's pranks at least once.

"If he cleaned his desk it wouldn't make such a big mess when it fell."

"If you didn't knock it over it wouldn't fall." Kanda shrugged unapologetically, opening his mouth but she interrupted, pointing with a corner of her clipboard. "No, no more excuses. Don't do it." Tucking it back under her arm she turned her henpecking to Lavi. "Clean your desk, its almost as bad as my brother's."

"I know where everything is." He declared in a pathetic whimper beneath scattered papers and books, head buried in his crossed arms.

"Make it so I can know where everything is."

"Is there a reason you're here?" Kanda asked, leaning back in his chair to look at her fully. She was a thin Chinese woman, not fragile and willowy as Allen but girlishly slim. Her fashionably cut conservative suit was simple unrelieved black, three silver buttons notched her jacket, her skirt ending a few scant inches away from acceptable. Today her long dark hair was pinned up in a French twist, the bangs left to shadow her eyes and frame her face.

"Komui wants to see you.", she eased a hip onto his desk and crossed her legs at the ankles, tapping the heels of her sensible shoes on the wood.

"He's not going to try and drag me into this mess with you guys again is he?" He scowled.

"I don't know, he just asked me to get you."

"I am fucking sick of this, we've gone over it and my answer won't change."

"Okay, what's with the overreaction? We don't even know if he's going to ask you about the Cross case."

"Yu-chan had a one night stand with Allen." Lavi snickered as he peaked over his folded arms.

"What?" Her eyes goggled and Kanda threw himself across the desk to drag Lavi up by his shirt.

"The fuck did you say?" he snarled, Lavi cried from the sudden vertigo and, with a gurgled squeak, threw up on him.

_**VIIIA**_

He didn't know what Lavi had ate that morning, or how he'd managed to keep it down with the monstrosity of a hangover he claimed to have, but whatever it was it was now all over his shirt and pants. Several brave and farsighted individuals had managed to separate them before Kanda got past the shock to register what had happened and throttle the unfortunate officer within an inch of his life. Now he was in spare cloths borrowed from a narcotics detective working a sting and standing in front of Komui looking like one of the bouncers he interrogated last night.

It hadn't been about the Cross Marian case, he didn't know if that smoothed his feathers or ruffled them, he was riled up and looking for a fight and Lavi was two floors away in the infirmary. He tapped the heel of his boot on the tile floor in agitation as he listened to Komui and Tiedol talk about mundane shit.

Marie and Daisya sat on the couch in front of the desk, the new guy between them, Tiedol was in the chair angled to the side of it. Kanda ignored them all, vibrating with repressed violence.

"Ah, Kanda that's a new style for you." Komui commented when he noticed the Asian male was now in the room, Tiedol turned with a bright smile, ready to say some idiotic shit. A low growl that resounded, low and terrible, from the deepest part of his lungs was his only reply and the subject was, intelligently, dropped.

With all of them there, Lenalee retreated from the office and they discussed their business in private.

_**VIIIA**_

Allen had eaten, crawled back under the covers, and found the last few moments of sleep he needed to feel anywhere near human. Then he had eaten again, fielded a few calls from collection agencies, put in a few of his own to his family, and did a quick frantic search when he realized Timcampy hadn't crawled back into his cage to go to sleep. Now he sat, casually dressed in smoky grey slacks and loose charcoal top, his bare feet tucked under his chair, fingers splayed across the ergonomically correct keyboard. His face free of concealer so his flushed scar lay exposed to the cool air, the place on his gut where Kanda had kicked him had experienced a mild breakout and in response so had his arm so he had opted to type single handed as his tiny reddened arm lay at his side coated in a soothing cream, the prosthetic still tucked in its case on the charger.

He had done a series of background checks when he had first met Officer Lavi Mann, those old bookman never bothered to hide their presence as so few new about them and those that did respected their great wisdom and feared their great influence. He knew, of course, that they had affiliated themselves with the Black Order, he didn't begrudge them that, one must understand all sides to understand the cause of a war, it **had** surprised him that there was a new apprentice, and that he would be allowed to take such an active role as to approach a target.

Lavi himself had been a surprise, he had expected any number of attempted contacts but none of them so… flamboyant. He had almost completely brushed off the encounter when the young officer had IDed him at the liquor store those few months ago, the man was so incredibly open and eager to befriend, so earnest, freshly minted from the police academy and green as the hills of his homeland. It was with a smidge of disappointment that his quick skimming search had turned him out as a member of the BookMan, still the acquaintance was an easy line on the Order's doings and a confirmation that they had gained its attention.

Through this contact he came to fill the list of immediate associates, and with deeper searches, had wheedled past the set information to the core truth. Now he sat filling out the near barren file labeled Yu Kanda. 

His background was so pathetically hidden they may as well not have bothered, and the information was so close to the official line he honestly didn't think they did. A Japanese citizen, twenty seven years old, working out of Shinjuku prefecture. He had attended several of Froi Tiedol's lectures at university where he had probably been recruited by the Black Order, had passed with exceptional marks at the academy, and after a year on the force had excelled at the examination and was promoted to Police Inspector.

He was in Florida on vacation for three weeks, visiting his old mentor, though Allen's check of his information showed that had been updated several times already, making his vacation near two months, a fraction of a month after he himself had moved here, and that an officer born and raised in New York by the same name had transferred to the Orlando Police department just before that.

He heaved a sigh and settled back into his chair. It was a simple, unbelievably ordinary, background. Two parents, four grandparents, average grades, excelling in some, skimming by in others, summer camps, kendo club and competitions, his rank was renshi-rokudan which was implausibly impressive, and he had a fair knowledge of firearms. He figured he could call up some contacts, dig a little deeper, for someone who showed such proficiency under examination to have such a simple background was just disappointing. The order must have done a heavy level of smoothing, which was why they probably didn't feel the need to hide what he did scrape away too deeply.

No, what would be the point in disturbing his busy little bees to go after a curious flower? The Earl had given him a mission, and that was simply to be exposed and report from where the shots fired. He would wait for further orders, if indeed further orders were forthcoming.

Until then, he filled the empty little file with his own notations, personality and appearance, and if a few of these little tidbits were about his long fingers or how well he filled out a pair of jeans well, it wasn't like anyone else was going to read it.

His stomach growled and he looked at the clock on his computer, surprised to see it was closing in on two pm. He didn't eat at his computer, the information too sensitive to risk spilled drinks or crumbs. He was a well-organized kind of person, his desk was clear of clutter, his room neat and resourcefully arranged for maximum use of space, he prided himself on his efficiency, both Cross and the Millennium Earl liked to surround themselves with clean, efficient, competent people. Competency led to proficiency, and proficiency led to met deadlines, completed tasks, achieved goals, which was what made their little organization run smoothly.

Rising he left his personal rooms to head into the kitchen, Cross was probably up in his own quarters now and Allen saw no reason to disturb him to confirm this. His phone chimed just as he was pulling out a bottled water and the makings of a sub sandwich.

It was Lenalee, yet another Order member assigned to investigate his darling guardian, inviting him out for lunch. His assumption was that they pushed her forward as a romantic interest; it was charmingly amusing to take in their expressions when he had dropped the subtle hints of his orientation. He wondered if Lavi would begin making the flirtatious in her stead and was glad he didn't step in to fill the role, as he was not Allen's type in the slightest and in fact the thought kind of disturbed him.

There were others, dropping in and removing themselves from the stage, Allen kept track of all of them, the confirmed and the probable, had made use of a few offered up as bedmates, but so far had only let a tight, intimate circle close in on him, like a noose he supposed, or the crosshairs of a sniper.

And reported all in kind back to the Earl.

A nice lunch would be refreshing, he thought as he pieced together his breaded masterpiece, and text her back a confirmation, and the location of a quaint little dinner down the road, within walking distance of his apartment of course, that he had come to frequent, then sliced his sandwich into neat little blocks with a few quick cuts from a sharp knife.

_**VIIIA**_

Lenalee had never been to this diner, it was most definitely a hole in the wall in the very essence of the term, and upon seeing it from the outside had felt the immediate need to turn around and request Allen meet them at the Wendy's back on OBT.

The entrance was at the back of run down shopping center dominated by pawn shops whose window cages never went up and an Auto Zone, the sun-bleached paint of the section the eatery was located held the shadows of letters spelling FURNITURE OUTLET, the windows were boarded up with plyboard, a coating of badly matched white paint hastily splashed over the wooden barriers.

They had to walk around to what should have been a loading area and enter what was once an employee's only door, Kanda made a rude remark and Marie said something in response. She was too busy contemplating the handle of the door as she ascended the few steps.

Once inside she realized she needn't have worried.

It was an elaborate room, no foyer or booth where a greeter might stand to send them to their tables, but a wide open space the size of any department store filled with row after row of spaced out picnic tables covered in multicolored cloths. The walls were deep neutral beige, the floors a sandy tile, sunlight filtered down through skylights stained a multitude of jewel bright colors that cast wide rectangles of reds and blues and green on the floor. The scents were deliciously titillating and her appetite cracked an eye and woke from its gentle sleep, clenching a fist around her stomach that trembled in response.

"Hello!" called a voice and she looked across the way to a window but into the wall on her left, beyond the opening stood a man she knew well.

"Jerry?"

"Lenalee! Oh, and Lavi and Kanda too, and who else?" they all came up to the window to see him and he smiled and greeted them all. "My my, what a surprise, I knew we were all stationed in the Orlando but to think you'd all end up here." He was a tall, well-built man with the dark mocha skin of India. His plum hair was pulled back in scores of braids that were themselves wrapped in two pleats down his back. He was, like them, an order member, a master of Muay Thai, and Lenalee's older brother's very best friend.

He was also as gay as a pink military tank and just as obvious.

"I didn't know you came to America, I thought you were still back at Headq- in Europe." Daisya coughed out the last when Kanda's elbow rammed into his gut, they were not alone in this place, and they were very much under cover.

"Oh, I got called here for a super-secret mission," he held a ladle up to his smiling lips in a shushing gesture, and motioned for everyone to come closer. "I'm keeping an eye on Arch Traitor Cross Marian's little cutie, Allen."

They stared at him, then, collectively save Kanda, "That's what we're doing."

"Oh, well what great luck, we're all working together." He smiled brightly. "So, what will it be? Kanda first, since it's obvious, Soba yes? Any kind or just the regular?" Kanda looked at him, then huffed and walked away to get them all a table. "Ah, okay, and you Lenalee?"

After they finished ordering and had picked up their food they followed to where Kanda was, brooding off in the farthest table where he had full view of the wide space. It was decided that Lavi would carry Kanda's tray, as punishment for stealing his card and putting him in an even worse mood than usual, forcing everyone else to suffer his incredibly bitchiness.

"So Lenalee, how did you know about this place? Did Komui tell you jerry was here?" Lavi asked, making sure to sit the farthest from Kanda as possible, carefully buffered by both Choaji and Daisya, whom he hoped would attract the most of the ill-tempered detective's wrath.

"No, Allen told me about it, he's meeting us here."

"WHAT?" Kanda's shout was fast and loud as a lightning strike and everyone stared at him in wonder, poor Choaji had paled to an almost bloodless white. Practically pulsating with aggravation he stood, leaving his food untouched, and left the table, everyone watching him.

"He and Allen really didn't hit it off." Lenalee remarked, Lavi shrugged.

"That's Yu-chan for you, I told you they wouldn't get along, Allen's just the kind of typical nice guy that gets on his nerves."

"Hmmn, I guess. Still he's such a sweetheart I was sure even Kanda could like him."

"People are complex creatures," Marie chided them both, picking his way carefully through his meal "You can't always predict how one will react to another."

"And then you gotta remember, Kanda's an asshole." Daisya quipped, and they all turned back to their meals, chatting absently on various things.

Kanda reached the door at the same time it opened to admit another customer. He was tired. He had had a crappy day, followed by a shitty night where he had chased rabbits and fought with albino's, and then had to endure a morning meeting with his fucking Team on two hours sleep and no breakfast. Now, the only upside of the day, Jerry's cooking which anybody in the order would agree is the best, fucking ever, a good plate of cold soba he didn't have to cook, and fuck up, himself was being ruined by the presence of the one person he had spent near three months trying to avoid.

Who had just walked into the restaurant, and smack into him.

He didn't stand out so much in the daylight, Kanda realized as the stepped back from eachother. His hair and eye color were pale and beautifully exotic, but not so much that someone with a good makeup artist couldn't replicate. His cloths were also softer, cloudy grey pants and a pastel blue shirt, this however made his white skin stand out more against the darker shades.

Kanda snarled. "Watch it asshole." He snapped.

Allen blinked, then his mouth twisted into a strangely curved line, before his features smoothed and he smiled. "Good afternoon Kanda, and how are you today?"

Kanda looked at him, then blinked and looked harder. "Fine." He managed when he didn't find anything out of place, aside from an albino who had the previous night sliced him open with a wicked tongue asking him how his day was going. His voice was formal, polite, and delivered with an almost neutral accent. This was a far cry from the smart assed street savvy brat of the previous night.

"That's good. Listen, I'm terribly sorry about how I acted last night. I'm afraid I'm not the best of companions when I'm drunk. I don't drink often, but you understand how Lavi can be right?" Kanda kept looking at him like he had sprouted strangely warped appendages out of his head. "So anyway, I was thinking. We are both exceptionally strong minded individuals, and we do share several friends, I'm quite certain we can manage to keep our association on placid terms. For their sakes at least?" 

The man just kept **staring. **What was wrong with him? Allen was being as polite as he could, given the horrendous way in which he was greeted, and his only response was to be looked at like some kind of freak? Oh, oh was his scar showing?

"Fine." Kanda grunted, then turned on a heel and walked back to the table just as Allen began to panic. The younger man watched him go, then quickly dug his wallet out of his pants and slid the tiny mirror, the size of a credit card, out to check. His concealer was unblemished, and his contact was in place.

Putting it away he watched the Asian take a seat with the group of people Allen had let near him. Pondering….

Then walked up to Jerry's window and gave his order to the beaming man.

_**VIIIA**_

Kanda forced down the instinct to continue to stare when Allen Walker joined their group with an armload of plates and bowls and several glasses of juice. He sat further down the table, next to Lenalee and across from Lavi, and immediately began talking about something he didn't feel like paying attention to in that refined musical voice. Pale lashes drooped down on fair cheeks, smiling is such an easy wistful way, carefully eating his large meal in the delicate manner of one from a high bred family. A serene and gentle image.

Why had he come back? He had been heading out to get away from any chance of being pulled into the case.

He picked at his soba, not particularly interested in eating it, and watched them from the corner of his eye. This Allen Walker was…not the one he met last night. Though there were traces, the unnecessary adjectives, the foreign slang, he assumed as the words were unfamiliar and may as well be toddler-speak to him. It struck him for a moment, that earnest look and the pleading tone in which he apologized, took the wind from his sails and had him stepping back to observe. 

His innocent eyes reflecting back the world lacked the knowing look, the measureless understanding from last night. His smile wasn't crooked and teasing, but warm and bright, his split bangs revealed a brow unmarred by the wrinkle of worldly cares, as if he didn't walk beneath the same stormy clouds as the rest of them. Only a few inches shorter than him, slim as a young tree, a sapling wood nymph, white birch perhaps, or an indian pipe, or some sprouting seed that had not yet reached the sun.

His accent was thicker then as well, here among company his smile was polite and his tone airy. A regular 'bloke,' one might think, and Kanda wondered if it really was the alcohol that made him such an ass that night or if...maybe.

Something about that polite attitude seemed fake. 

And it kind of pissed him off because, well, weren't **they** the ones supposed to be pretending? Could no one else see that his smile was painted on, and that every movement and gesture had a fluid, effortless grace as though no force of gravity could keep hold of him?

He cursed inwardly, he didn't care. Fuck it. So what if he turned out to be one of those naive idiots who looked at everyone with warmth and compassion, so what if he could be in serious danger being involved with someone like Cross Marian, and so what if the Order didn't give a shit about people caught up in the middle of their war. It happened. He should know that better than anyone.

He did know that better than anyone.

Without realizing it he had finished his meal. Staring at the empty basket he furrowed his brow and blocked out everything around him. He had things to do. Number one was to go home and sleep. Deciding that the rest of the day was useless, as it involved 'bonding' with the new guy, he figured he could do just that, and gathered his things to leave.

"Ah, are you going Kanda?" Allen asked and all attention was on him. He halted, shoulders tense, back ramrod, and grunted. "Have a good day." He turned on that sweet smile of measureless compassion and Kanda resisted raising the tray and bashing it over his head until he started to look human.

It. Was. Fucking. Creepy.

He tossed his tray on the counter without clearing off the trash and slammed out the door. Fuck everything, he was going to take a fucking nap.

_**VIIIA**_

When he thinks of all the suffering he had to endure.

These people knew, he was sure of it, the corruptions of their Order. They wouldn't have sent them to interact with him without the basic knowledge of his heritage, of their crimes against the Walkers who were Noah. He smiled and chatted gaily with them, feeling no pity for their fates, they who could so easily befriend one whom they stole everything from. Soon, he soothed his coiling hatred, soon they would suffer as he had suffered. 

"You realize you're staring." Lavi grinned cheekily and he pinked slightly, false, for he felt no shame in enjoying the view of Kanda's retreating back. "You were **so** looking at his ass."

"Don't swear." He pouted, and glanced away, in the direction Kanda was not in, and found Lenalee smiling mischievously beside him.

"Allen, do you like Kanda?" She scooted closer, leaning into his personal space, laughter ringing at the edge of her voice.

"Um…well." He hunched his shoulders and starred self-consciously down into his food. Flushing up to his ears and replying a mumbled "he's very handsome."

"HAH, yeah Yu-chan's a pretty one, but he's got the temper of a dingo. You think, oh look what a cute little Oh GOD NO! and he's tearing out your throat and dragging you back to his den to feast." Lavi nudged Daisya who snickerd and agreed. "Though I'm betting you probably won't have any problems with the den feasting, would you Allen?"

"You two are being mean." Choaji said. "Allen, it's perfectly okay to look at someone, its natural. You don't need to be embarrassed." Being raised by a woman who owned a series of strip clubs He considered himself opened minded to the many colored facets of sexuality. Unfortunately his words seemed to have the opposite effect then he intended and Allen flushed further.

"Yeah, Allen, it's perfectly natural to want to see hot Japanese guys naked, weesboos do it all the time."

"Lavi, don't pick on him." Lenalee scolded, though she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Besides, if Allen likes Kanda we should be supporting him, not scaring him off."

"Hey Lenalee fair warning, words of caution, it's what friends do. Little buddy, you have no chance, at all, ever, of hitting that. Gay love fest never happening, lets accept it, mock you for the next hour, and find you a nice Pilipino boy to clean your pool for you."

"I," Allen seemed to shrivel from embarrassment, "I just said he's handsome. I'm not, it's not like I…well I." and they all laughed at his squeaking, even the gentle voiced Marie gave a little chuckle.

Soon enough, he though with pride at his performance, soon enough they would understand, even if not, if never, the full measure of his pain, then a fraction at least. As he drew them fuller into his circle, comfortably secure in their beguilement of his timid, gentle character, unknowing that they would soon be part of the shattering of their precious blackened stronghold, and them with it. These black hearted people in their painted masks.

Black Order indeed.

_**VIIIA**_

I love that dream sequence. It took me four days to write that dream sequence. That dream sequence is perfect. It is exactly the way I want it, and so rarely does anything come out exactly the way I was in in my writing. I almost cut corners, I almost wrote Neah completely out of it, I almost skimped on a lot of things, but I muddled through it and managed it and I'm just so proud. It looks simple, but that bitch fought me every letter of the way.

I'm sorry that this one is so very short. I meant for it to be longer, but the scene with Cross got nixed due to incredible lameness. Perhaps if my editors weren't busy with life at the moment they could proof read and help me fill in some holes in the detail, as when I cut back on my natural style I find things always feel like their missing, but sadly my favorite girls are off doing their own thing and I'm posting this raw, as is usual for me in many things.

Kanda does not call Allen by his nickname because he has not given him his nickname yet. He has not been around him enough to give him a nickname, does not want to be around him enough to give him a nickname.

Allen does not eat the amount he does in the Manga, for the simple fact that this story is as close to realistic as possible. Instead he suffers the same thing I do, which is an inability to store glycogen, a substance stored in your liver and other areas that gets converted to blood glucose for energy, this leads to hypoglycemia and sugar attacks as your central nervous system relies on blood sugar to work. The average person stores enough glycogen to last 12 to 14 hours of regular daily motion, or over 2 hours of intense physical activity. Allen, like me, can only go for as long as the active blood sugar in our bodies powers us, for me it's just over 3 hours, with the warning signs of an attack showing around two and a half. At the limit a person will become extremely dizzy and eventually pass out, have a seizure, or go into a coma, and yes we could eventually die without medical help.

Allen is using a technique called 'carbo-laoding' designed to extend endurance in athletes, which a normal person should not do more than three times a year. I do not recommend this to others suffering from type 0 GSD as high levels of unused glucose in the bloodstream can cause serious problems on its own. Instead simple carb boosting snacks between meals and a careful monitoring of your carbohydrate intake is fine. I eat seven meals a day, with frequent snacks between, but I'm a vegetarian and so need more filler meals to make up for the lack of meat and protein.

Type 0 is a rare form of GSD and not as dangerous as the others, easily controlled with dietary treatment, and hereditary (recessive), you cannot prevent yourself from getting Type 0 GSD, if you think you have GSD see your doctor for testing, treating the wrong kind of GSD could prove fatal. For more information about GSD visit the Association of Glycogen Storage Disease's website.

-Rin


	3. Lithium

First off: A salute to Histaria and AllenThePianist14 for solving last chapter's riddle. (Kola, for the love of Aang STOP SPEAKING ITALIAN AT ME!) 

Everyone say hi to AllenThePianist14, since this is kinda sorta her very vague idea (because: "hey Rin can you write me a Yullen crime drama?" does not give you very much bragging credits Kola)

Okay, here we are, almost out of the character introduction phase, the necessary part of all AUs I hate with all my ability, and will soon move into action and character development, which is always fun. I even finished it all off by killing a character. I _**wonder **_who_**?**_

Hint: It's totally Daisya. I know right? **Shocker**. I am so original. 9.9

Also, you get a little taste of yullen, because Allen has 67 protons and Kanda's a combination of Arsenic and Sulfur.

3.) Lithium

_The flames of hell burn their darkest crimson when fueled by the pure.  
><em>  
><em><strong>IA<strong>_

Allen swung off the bike and walked it up the ramp to the racks, locking it, and stepping back to take a greedy gulp of vitamin water. It was hot, Lord Jesus was it ever hot, and the sun was a furnace in the sky. Under his light summer jacket he wore a simple silk shortsleeve, but to remove it exposed him to the sun, and the world to his arm, which was significantly less advanced than his usual, so he suffered through it and counted the steps up to the glory of air-conditioning.

The doctor's office was an attractive two story brownstone in the Medical District, within view of the gleaming blue tubular set that was the Winnie Palmer hospital. They had worked hard to get the strategic location, with the little ponds and trees and flowers dotting the area, it was a quiet serene place full of compassion and caring. A mother duck led a line of ducklings up to the sidewalk, waiting patiently at the light for the crosswalk sign to change. He watched them cross, bemused at the action, then shook his head and entered the office.

The practice had been opened near a year ago in preparation for his arrival, not for himself though it was convenient not having to fly back to Europe or across the states for his medical needs, but to set up a very special acquaintanceship. Noah had a series of charitable businesses set up worldwide, affordable specialists for people with rare diseases was only one of them, as so many who developed them couldn't pay for the treatment they needed.

One such man was Suman Dark.

Allen knew, of course, that he was an Order member, as they had encountered each other when he purposefully bumped into one of the little stalking teams the Order set on him, but had kept him at the same casual distance he did of all the others outside his chosen circle. People, Allen knew, had to be handled carefully. Humans could be so easily manipulated, yet at the same time difficult to predict, he had needed a more…controlled setting in which to prey on the man's weaknesses.

"Good morning, and how are you?" he asked of Eliade, who manned the reception desk. She was a disarmingly beautiful woman with a short waterfall of golden hair tied back from a perfectly carved face, her thick lashed eyes were a pale winter blue and her full lips were painted the barest shade of rose. It was a treasure to see her without all the stage makeup she usually piled on and he smiled sweetly at her in a near genuine fashion.

"Mr. Walker, how wonderful to see you," She exclaimed loudly, her soubrette voice carried from the lobby into the main waiting area just beyond. Allen saw Suman jolt and glance his way from the corner of his eye. "I suppose this means you're finally settled here?"

"Yes, just a few nights ago, actually." He crossed his arms on the counter and watched her pull his file up on the computer. Giving him the perfect angle to watch the older detective pretend he wasn't listening.

"How are you holding up with the time difference? I know you said last time you had things to do in Asia." She clacked away at the computer, typing up a few notes for him in a box. BEEN HERE A FEW MINUTES. JUST SIGHS AND STARES AT THE TV. REALLY ANNOYING.

He gave her a genuine sigh, "I'm still not completely settled on that, as you can see from my being about at this most horrible hour of the day."

"Mr. Walker it is 4 o'clock in the afternoon."

"Exactly," he laughed.

"You are such a night owl."

"The sun does unmentionable things to my skin."

"Yes, well I'm sure you've taken precautions." She closed her notes and was back on his file. "Dr. Fiidora will see you shortly, please be seated until then." She blew him a kiss and returned to her work.

Allen signed in and walked past the lobby to the waiting area just beyond. Suman had picked up a magazine, a fake, carefully pieced together to show many pictures of smiling families and pretty little daughters with their daddies. He knew the man was due for a checkup on his ventricle septal defect, an unnatural opening in the wall separating the left and right sides of the ventricle. It had been such a small hole, had practically healed over as he grew from infancy to the man he was today, but it had never closed completely and it was a simple thing to raise a man's blood pressure to the point where the minor defect became… a bit more serious.

Allen sat beside him with a quiet hello, the middle aged man was well built, healthy, with dark eyes and brown hair, cropped close to his skull and peppered with the faint traces of grey. The fingers of his prosthetic, a less advanced myoelectric then even the one Allen wore now, creased the glossy papers of the rag, he wondered what was going through the officer's head.

The poor man had been recruited by the Black Order very near against his will, as his child and he both shared the same unfortunate malformation Allen himself had. His little girl, however, while having minor skeletal deformations had developed conjunctive heart disease on top of her congenital heart defect. Needless to say a regular working man such as Suman, with medical bills of his own, could hardly afford the treatments needed for his daughter, and quite soon she had deteriorated to the point of needing a new heart.

And who was to come to the rescue but the representatives of the Black Order, with their conditional promises, offering him all he needed to keep himself and his darling daughter in good health. What was a father to do?

Now here he was, so many years later, with his daughter's transplant finally happening, and a rather sudden incident with his own. Suman was a very reserved man, private man, but anyone could see this new worry was not sitting well with him.

Fiidora, the staged doctor and a member of Allen's dear family, emerged from a door down a hallway to the left, escorting another young actor out with doctor-ly words that Allen couldn't make heads or tails of. He spotted them, and waved the patient on.

"Mr. Dark?" He asked, approaching them, Suman jumped and looked up from his magazine.

"Yh," he coughed, "yes?"

"Hellow, I'm Dr. Fiidora, nice to meet you." He held out a hand to shake. "Come on back." Suman, before walking through the door, gave one last look back at Allen, who glanced up and waved with a smile.

When he exited Allen was fully engrossed in the television, turned to some feel good family movie from the nineties involving animals and unconventional adventures within bike riding distance. He didn't even acknowledge the man, and had to be called three times by Fiidora before he looked up, and shook himself, flustered. Walking down the hallway, craning his neck like a child to catch every available second allowed.

Suman watched him, then turned to the TV. "Do you know what movie this is?"

"Hhmmn? Oh, no, sorry. I'm sure I can, ah, here. TVGuide channel um…eleven? Gosh, I have Uverse at home, um, is it the same for BrightHouse? Oh, duh, just hit guide." She struggled with the remote, couldn't get it to work, the light at the top blinked above the DVD label. "Oh um, yeah, sorry I can't, let's just. How?"

**Out of the Wilderness**, it read when the blue menu came up.

"Well, that was a headache." Eliade smiled.

"Thank you." Suman nodded, and walked out.

_**IA**_

"So it's going well?"

"Yes, I guess, I don't know get this thing off me." Allen was working his way out of his shirt and jacket to remove the insanely uncomfortable prosthetic. Fiidora laughed lightly and helped him undo the straps and harness lashed around his chest and shoulders. When it was off he let out a gushing sigh and flopped down onto the paper covered bed. "Why can't I wear my regular arm?"

"Because it looks nothing like a prosthetic?"

Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that thing is?" he whined.

"Couldn't imagine." Fiidora removed the short black wig and let his long blue hair fall. "Though I guess it's a lot more than this itchy thing."

"Aww, poor thing. Come here, I'll brush it." Allen dug a comb from his bag and his cousin sat on the stepping stool before him. "It's too soon to be projecting any results, but I'd say I at least caught his attention." He began at the very ends and worked his way through the little tangles wig caps always put in long hair.

"Well that's to be expected, he is on your stalker squad."

"He just left." Eliade walked in before Allen could reply, "and he latched onto your little childish act with the TV."

"Seriously?" Allen's face scrunched adorably.

"He wanted to know what it was, and was getting really irritated when I couldn't figure out the remote."

"You played with the remote? That wasn't in the plan." Allen chided.

"Played my ass, I couldn't figure the damn thing out." She crossed to the counter and pulled a tube of steroid topical cream.

"Why are you connecting with him over children's movies?" Fiidora tried to turn his head and got smacked.

"You mind? It's hard enough doing this one handed. I didn't know if it would work. We threw out over a hundred subtle openings for him to latch onto. But! Like I said, it's only the first meeting; official meeting that is, in a controlled environment."

"Very controlled." Eliade interjected, sitting on a corner of the bed and applying a dab of the lotion to the areas the straps of the inferior prosthetic had rubbed to irritation.

"My point," Allen bit the comb and spoke around it as he tugged Fiidora's hair back into a tail, "is that it's far too soon to be picking apart or analyzing anything in our meeting. There." He set the comb down and shoved the man's shoulder. "You're done."

_**IA**_

Kanda was not going to be seen for the next ten hours.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment and let himself in. Lavi was off doing whatever the fuck Bookman told him to and Miranda, his second roommate and another member of their charming little assembly, was still at the base with the rest of the office drones. He had the place all to himself, and he made use of it by first taking a long hot shower. By then at least a portion of the migraine he had felt simmering behind his eyes had edged off and he felt just that much closer to human.

Today had been Hell, capitol H, all the various layers.

Kanda was slotted to update the Order's information on the newest strain of the Akuma drug, being the only person in the area with any experience with the latest evolution, and to give a short briefing to everyone taking their annual blood borne pathogens and bio hazardous waste classes.

He hated the classes, as they were two hours, each, of information he and all the others already knew. Two hours of lecture and personal stories, instead of a quick refresh of facts and a blessedly simple quiz. True or false, multiple choice, double sided single paper. The only good thing about the whole damn affair.

He boiled water and made himself a pot of hot tea, grabbed a cup and headed back to his room to boot up the computer. He would sleep_, eventually_, but for now he had research to do, notes to compile, a class to plan, and cases to secretly monitor and regulate. The NOAH influence in Japan was more deeply rooted, and farther reaching, than anywhere else in the world and he had very nearly had one of its wriggling tentacles in his hand before being called out here to the U. S. of fucking A. for recruitment and training.

He was only one man; the investigation could carry on without him, blah blah blah.

He scrolled through his messages, reading updated reports from his team back home. They had narrowed in on the main base of operations' location, Tokyo of course, and had picked out a few members among the government and law enforcement branches. He opened a tab and began to make notes, highlighting certain facts or lines in the investigation, reading over interviews with Akuma junkies, the morgue reports for bodies of those put down.

It was the Order's policy to quietly euthanize all Akuma.

Kanda leaned back and studied the small notation made at the bottom of one of the Finders logs. Apparently the NOAH had perfected the next strain of Akuma serum they had been experimenting with on the streets of Tokyo, the one he was supposed to update the Order's information about. Kanda knew it had been expanding beyond the city and its prefectures to the rest of Japan, but now it was cropping up in China and India, parts of the rest of Asia, reaching as far as the Mediterranean. This wasn't good; the science division projected it to start appearing in the rest of the world within a few weeks.

The same pattern as the last updated version of the drug, what the junkies labeled Level 2.

No wonder they had wanted him to educate the teams here about it.

Kanda had spent years in Tokyo and had seen what Level 2 was capable of when it first hit the streets. Unlike the first strain of the drug, that robbed the user of its sanity, L2 did far less damage to the brain, but pumped higher levels of hormones into the body, creating even more dangerous and unpredictable addicts.

In the end the results were the same, the drug destroyed the nervous system, and eventually rot their bodies from the inside out, this new strand was no different, save a new mix of chemical commands for the body. The users were now far more prone to violence, unlike the other two who were more flighty, likely to attack only when provoked.

What was coming to be dubbed Level 3 was proving to be very dangerous.

_**IA**_

The next time they spoke was almost two weeks later, when Suman once again entered the specialist's office. He had been watching from a distance, as was his job, but had not been maneuvered into a position closer to the target. The Order had decided early on to pile the youngest of their members around him in a wave of friends and potential lovers. The older, the more qualified, the ones who had any experience in actually deceiving and maneuvering, in charming information from the young man were pushed to mere surveillance.

Allen Walker was sitting in the waiting room when he came in through the door. He was watching another movie, this one he knew, it was his daughter's favorite, as far as he remembered. Allen's eyes followed everything on the screen with wonder and a slight sadness.

"Hello again." He said as he sat, much better prepared this time, and more sure.

"Ah, good afternoon, and how are you?" Allen turned his gaze to him politely, but returned to the movie.

"Good," he smiled, and they sat in silence while Suman observed him from his peripheral. He hadn't reported this meeting, after all he would simply be replaced wouldn't he? His smile tightened at the corners, they would send someone younger, friendlier, and with absolutely no experience in the genetic disorder they both coincidentally shared. How was that possible? How was it that they both suffered the effects of Holt Oram syndrome, and yet the Order hadn't seen it as a valuable opportunity?

Well, he would simply have to act on his own for now, stabilize a relationship, and make it to where he was an irreplaceable asset to the investigation. He could do it, he could get closer to Allen Walker than anyone else, and when **he** broke this investigation the people in command would have to be grateful, would have to honor his request to see his daughter.

"Allen!" The doctor was leaning out the door to a room with an enormous smile. "Come on back!"

"Yes, okay." Allen glanced sadly at the TV, then gathered his bag and rose.

"I," Suman swallowed when those large grey eyes turned to him curiously, perhaps not as sure as he believed. "I have the movie, if you'd like to borrow it?" He pointed to the TV when those eyes turned confused, then they cleared.

"Oh! Oh? You do? I've never seen it, so. Um, Yes, please. It's very interesting."

"It's a VHS so you'll need a VCR. I'm not sure if they've made a DVD copy yet."

"That's fine, I have one. I just, I love these old movies with the animals, what's the one, Bonding Home?"

"Oh, **Homeward Bound**. It's a classic, well a remake of a classic, that was made into a trilogy actually, and the one you were watching last time, **Out of the Wilderness**? With the little girl and the raven? I have that one too." He had gone out and purchased it after their last encounter.

"Allen, are you honestly more interested in flirting with some old guy more than your test results?" Allen pinked and turned back to the doctor.

"No, shut up. I'm coming." He hurried back to the door.

Suman watched him disappear into the room, then sat back to watch the last of **Fly Away Home** with an accomplished little smile. He was a cute kid, kind of like his daughter.

It was almost ninety minutes before Allen reemerged from the office, chatting with the doctor in a friendly casual manor, laughing over something Suman couldn't hear.

"I'll be right with you, Mr. Dark." The doctor said as they passed. "Eliade," He leaned over the counter to speak quietly to the secretary. She twisted her lips to suppress a laugh and glanced at a giggling Allen.

"Oh, that is perfect. Just like you, Allen."

"Perfect?" He shook his head back, caught the sunlight in the dancing white hairs.

"Hah, no. But it's cute, good luck."

Allen's phone vibrated in his pocket. "Hello?" he answers. "Oh hey, yes I'm at the doctor's office. Oh yes, yes. They did, did they? Yes, yes I'll take care of it. Oh it's absolutely no problem on my part. Okay, yes thank you. Yes, goodbye." He turned back to Eliade. "Got to go, love. Work work work, it's all I do."

"That's what you get for being irreplaceable." He kissed her cheek, waggled his fingers at Suman, and trotted out the door to his bike.

When he arrived at the drop-off all the main characters were there, and dead.

_**IA**_

Kanda arrived at the training room halfway through the beginning of BP, slipping in while the instructor was chatting on about fire exits and food and drink rules, bathroom locations, pen borrowing, and the sign in sheet. Two hours in this class, he had already taken his update in private, a quick twenty minute briefing and the simple quiz, but still…two hours.

The portly man stood on the podium with his little remote, going through the slides of a powerpoint as his spoke.

"HIV lasts only 15 minutes outside the body. Hepatitis C last four days and Hepatitis B lasts up to a week. When cleaning your equipment after a contamination the cleaner, in this case the chemical number six, it's called Triad, as shown on the label, not GreenStuff as so many of you refer to it as, should sit on the contaminated area no less than ten minutes to kill all the bacteria and virus. I had a guy in here, and for years he thought its name was GreenStuff, everyone always called it that. 'Hey, get the GreenStuff.' Until one day he squirted it in his eyes. He called up Health Services, and they had difficulty treating it because they didn't know what it was. GreenStuff? What? "

Kanda mostly tuned him out. The combination of the closed room, lack of windows, heavy florescent lighting, and the far from riveting information dump, made him drowsy and he had to snap his eyes open several times. He had no idea why American's thought windows hindered learning when tests showed exactly the opposite, but did **they** pay attention to scientific results? Fucking morons.

"Personal Protection Equipment. Who can give me an example of PPE?"

"Gloves?" Someone asked.

"Good yes, what else"

"Goggles." Another called.

"Yes, any more? How about…" God was this boring "…Dispose of all contaminated materials in the red bio hazardous waste bags, …Knife wounds, blood splatter, accidental needle sticks, Are all exposures and contamination risks…..Universal precaution means assuming every bodily fluid is contaminated with blood, and all blood is infected."

Finally he started passing out the quiz. "Please fill the bubble in all the way, don't check it, don't ex it, and don't doodle little hearts or smiley faces, Lavi." He smacked the uniformed officer over the head with the sheaf of papers in his hand.

Lavi ducked his head with a smile, than set about filling in his answers, adding little horns and tails to the bubbles.

"At the bottom of the page is the form for the Hep B vaccine, the Black Order provides all members free vaccines, if you have already received this vaccine, that is the complete three shots, two and then another several months later, sign the form and check where you received it, personal doctor, previous job, or previously with the Order. If you have not received the three shots leave it blank. If you got the first two, but not the third, you _will_ have to take it again. So make sure you get that last shot." 

And then it was Kanda's turn to stand in front of the group of drowsy eyed Order Members.

He took the remote, wiped it on his shirt as it was slimy with sweat from the palms of the fat man handing it to him, and pulled his own presentation up on the flat screens at the front of the room.

He started it with a picture of the carefully cleaned skeleton of an Akuma junkie hooked on the experimental L3. 

_**IA**_

Allen stepped daintily through the wreckage of the old mall. The economy was always in some upheaval or another, it seemed every generation left some buildings old and abandoned, and the old warehouses of his uncle's time were quietly replaced with out of business stores and garages to old amusement parks.

"Well, well." He spoke, white alligator boots stopping just inches from the limp dead hand, outstretched in a plea for aid, cocking a hip and crossing his arms. "You boys had yourself a party."

Two Akuma junkies lay sprawled on the tile floor, one of them appearing to have been crawling towards the door. Around them were the coolers holding the vials of drug, carefully stacked and ready for transport to their respective locations for distribution, and wouldn't you know it, one of the cases was open. Allen moved around them and checked the contents. Several vials were missing, probably the ones lying empty on the ground. Three, not many but he hoped the ones they belonged to weren't on hold and could manage a few weeks without a hit, otherwise…well it was best not to dwell on such things.

"_**This is why I hate working with level ones, they are such stupid creatures." **_ Neah's disgust smacked into Allen's sad stirring of pity. Though, he was right. That they even dared to open the cases they were transporting was outrageous enough, but that they had actually self-injected a dosage higher than their own rank was unforgivable. Even if they had lived through the mix-up they would have been severely punished.

He pulled his cell out and called the Earl.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was like a musical note and he smiled. "Allen, did you find them?"

"I did, they're at the old mall in Kissimmee. Stopped to make the switch, as planned, and one or the other decided to take a peak. Honestly Mel, why don't we have locks on these things?" He settled the lid back on the box and leaned against it. "My guess is they got a little excited about finding they weren't carrying flu shots. Took a Level2 dosage each."

"I see, are they dead?"

Allen toed the shoulder of the man collapsed by the cases, it gave slightly beneath his boot, turned the body just a fraction, limp as a corpse. "Quite."

"Well, they are individually mixed for a reason." The voice laughed. "How many did they palm?"

"Three. From their positioning I'd say when they felt the…adverse effects of their little injections one tried to remedy the situation with a second dose, the other," he pushed off of the crates and walked around the scene, "Tried to crawl away. For what I don't know, but you know how those hallucinations get."

"Well, I'll call off the search and let the others know. Send someone there to help. Just sit on them a while, okay?"

"Oh it's no problem, they aren't going anywhere."

_**IA**_

"The Devils virus, or Akuma as it's called, is a highly dangerous drug cocktail of hormones and biological chemical commands known as neurotransmitters." Kanda's voice was brisk, and he shot out facts in a simple, controlled order. After getting everyone's attention with the gruesome images of the Akuma junkies remains. On screen now was a quick list of scientific looking words and across a shorter, more familiar name. "We have never gotten a sample, but blood tests have given us an idea of some of its contents."

Dopamine  
>Dimethyltryptamine (DMT)<br>Norepinephrine  
>Estrogen<p>

Testosterone  
>Serotonin<br>Cortisol

Endogenous Morphine

Gamma-aminobutyric acid (GABA)

Epinephrine (Adrenaline)

Norepinephrine (Noradrenaline) 

"I'm not going to stand up here and pretend to understand and explain a whole bunch of science garbage. You have two types, Inhibitory and Excitatory, the stuff that calms you down and the stuff that riles you up. We'll start with the most familiar to half of you." He pressed the button.

**Dopamine:-**

"Dopamine is that special little thing in your body that controls everything you do. Those who've worked narcotics know it as the number one reason people get addicted. It's good for the calm down and the jack up. It fucks with your emotions, perception and movement, it practically has you by the balls, and is the reason the thought of that turns you on. Imbalanced dopamine can cause schizophrenia, and too low levels causes serious anxiety disorders. That coupled with our next little mind fucking chemical is why Akuma and half the druggies out there are fucking insane and confuse your ugly face with a cheeseburger.

**(DMT):-**

"Your brain makes DMT, along with half the stuff on this list, but only during the deepest parts of your sleep when all your prurient dreams sprout claws and teeth and chase you through town in a clown suit." He got giggles at that, and added "Or when under intense stress levels, like right when you're about to _die_." He leaned over an officer's desk and tapped the paper. "I'd take notes, as there won't be a fucking test, and you're going to be facing the junkies and have to determine which hormonal nightmare you're dealing with." He pushed off and clicked to a scene with what looked like a drug raid.

"Some of you may be familiar with this drug, as it's highly illegal and easy to come by, and causes seriously fucked hallucinations. It's easy to make, easy to sell, and causes no harm to the body. Some Akuma may not even be taking it in their usual dosage and use it recreationally from a separate vender, along with any other drug out there. Luckily regular drug addicts never get promoted beyond level 1."

"Um." He turned to a slim, older woman with auburn hair, her accent hinted at Germany though she struggled to control it. Miranda, his roommate along with the idiot Lavi, and the woman he suspected his teammate Marie had romantic feelings for. "Sorry!" she ducked down under the table to hide.

"If you have a question fucking say it." He snapped.

"Kanda." Lenalee scolded, she sat beside the woman and coaxed her back to her chair. "I think Miranda was trying to say Level 2 is the second drug, right? Why bother with screening for other drugs?"

Actually, Miranda had wanted to request he slow down, as she was having trouble keeping up, but she nodded hurriedly, and busied herself with messily copying the screen word for word.

"Tch, it's because L2 is a more advanced mixture given to junkies they still want viable for certain tasks. It's both the name of the drug, and the status for those who take it."

"You think."

"What?" He turned to snarl at Lavi.

"Well," the redhead leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen in an intensely aggravating repetition. "As you said, we've never gotten a sample, only run the blood from dissected Akuma, and since all these chemicals and hormones are biologically derived there's the chance that the imbalances we find are natural, or from other sources. Who's to say the DMT didn't come from someone having a little smoke? Or that the Dopamine isn't from someone who is actually schizophrenic?"

"Multiple similar results." He managed through teeth. "Moving on." He pressed the button and continued before Lavi could open his stupid mouth again. 

**Endorphin:-**

"Endorphin is similar to morphine or heroine. It's the type of shutdown chemical as it's involved in reducing the pain and making the person calm and happy."

**GABA:-**

"GABA is a shutdown transmitter that blocks the jacked up ones, which lead to the anxiety and panic. The Akuma pumped on this are often sent on suicide missions, it lets them face situations without fear, but they have a weak point, this chemical causes them to develop epilepsy, that's why you get these fun little things." He pulled a flash grenade from a secured case sitting on the table before him. "These give off five successive flashes, use them sparingly."

**Serotonin:-**

"Serotonin is used for those same suicidal Akuma, it controls pain, sleep, food cravings, and helps stop the jackups from entering the brain."

He shot it out almost too fast to keep up with, finishing off with the two adrenalines. "The latest batch of Akuma drug, what we're labeling as L3, has pumped up the levels of Noradrenaline and Adrenaline, as well as increased levels of Testosterone, making the Akuma on this drug unstable, prone to anger and violence." 

Finished with the recipe lessons he began the briefing.

"We believe Level 1 is the hook. It's the feel good drug; it ups the pleasure, fucks up the brain, and addicts the junkie. We know there are different cocktails in the three levels, we don't know how many or how they're different, but prolonged use of this cocktail has fatal results. We don't know why, but the muscles begin to ossify, skeletons of Akuma junkies after long term use have a network of muscles that had fused and become bones themselves." He brought up the first picture again, flanked by many others. The bones looked like they had melted together, webbed by thin lines of muscle that had hardened and became one with it. "These Akuma experience limited painful movement, their minds have deteriorated, their lives are ruined, and the suppliers have either cut them off or give them small, infrequent dosages. They are useless to the NOAH, and have essentially been thrown away. Like garbage."

He looked at the people, all horrified by the images in front of them, the Akuma, alive and not. "They all have similar malnourished appearances, sunken eyes, garbled speech, and the same basic need: Hunger. For a hit, for food, for whatever chemical or hormone their body has stopped producing due to excess, we don't know. We've tried rehabilitation, hormone therapy, morphine, none have worked, so far there is no cure for an Akuma junkie this far gone other than merciful, pitiable death." 

_**IA**_

Allen had shoved the Akuma bodies in the back of the minivan, the one they had come in, and put the chests in the truck, the one they were supposed to complete the deliveries in. It was a catering truck, perfect for multiple stops and no one would question beyond 'are they having a party?' He had gotten a little miffed when the vomit from the dead junkies had gotten on his trousers when dragging them to the van, Neah had laughed at his prissiness.

Blowing his hair out of his face, why did he keep it cropped too short to pull back? He was an idiot. He set the last cooler into the back of the van and jumped down, dusting himself off. He was wearing light grey slacks and frowned at the lines of grime and grease that smeared across them. He had tossed his summer jacket somewhere before he had gotten started and the simple sleeveless he wore was just as smeared and lined at his trousers.

The prosthetic was rubbing him to blisters and was nowhere near as strong as his usual myoelectric, so he was essentially doing this all one handed, using his left hand merely as leverage.

He walked back to his bike and popped the top on his water bottle, taking a quick pull before grabbing a protein bar and settling back to wait for his help, who were taking their sweet, casual time.

"_**Maybe they hit traffic?"**_

"Convenient." He muttered. "Leaving me to clean up the bodies, quite literally this time."

"_**Complain to your beloved Earl." **_The sneer in the voice was unmistakable.

"Shut up." He snapped, louder then he meant. "Just, don't speak. I'm tired." He drank heavily this time, and Neah remained silent.

"Hey Allen!" he look over and saw several people approaching from the rear parking lot.

"JasDevi!" He pushed off from the bike and lunged at them for a hug. He hadn't expected the shipment to be theirs; he had thought they were still in Europe. "What are you doing here?"

"We came with the Earl, L3 is hitting and we're personally giving each Akuma their upgrade." Davitto explained.

"Fii didn't tell you?" Jasdero asked.

"No, I just got a call from the Earl that the new deliveries hadn't arrived, and that Tiki and I should start searching." Allen pulled back and looked at them. They were twins, two long and lanky men in their late twenties, black clubbing cloths and heavy dark makeup Allen wondered at, as it did not look smudged or smeared at all in this heat and he was sure his concealer must be rubbed off in at least some spaces. Davitto with his short spikey dark hair, Jasdero with his long wavy blonde, and matching cocky smiles. "Tiki took the drop off and I took the pickup, figured we'd meet in the middle. Looks like they never got past the switch."

"Yeah, we may have forgotten to secure the magnetic locks."

"The Earl made us come meet you after you called."

"Well boys, glad you could come, I cleaned up your mess for you." He wrapped an arm around each waist and walked them into the mall.

"Little brother's always picking up our toys." Jasdero teased.

"But he never can manage to put them in their place, can he?" Devit responded.

"That's because he's too short to reach the shelves."

"Come on you two, I've been working my cute little bum off, and I got Akuma upchuck on my favorite footgear." Allen whined, "Can't you be nicer to me?"

"No."

He pouted, then placed a hand on both their backs and shoved them towards the mess. "Have fun." He laughed at the expressions when they saw the dead Akuma.

"What are we supposed to do with these?" Jas shrieked.

"I'm sure Tyki could help when he gets here. You all took your time, so they've just been sitting in the hot car for three hours." His grin was malicious and smug.

He left them to it, got on his bike, and with the delivery list copied to his iPhone made his way to the drops to deliver the sad, sorry news to three level 2 Akuma that they would not be getting their hit today.

_**IA**_

Fiidora leaned against the counter and watched Suman Dark through geek chic glasses he absolutely did not need.

"It's called norepinephrine, or noradrenaline. It's released by adrenal glands into the blood stream, it's involved in forming memories, also in arousal, energy, and keeps endorphins in your body from breaking down. The levels in your bloodstream are unusually high and could be the cause of your high blood pressure. Have you been eating a lot of Almonds?"

"What? No, I…no."

"Avacados, bananas, beef liver?"

"No, what does that have to do with it?"

Fiidora scratched at his wig, "Well these are things rich in what your body needs to build noradrenaline. Have you taken any supplements with high levels of phenylalanine, lysine, methionine, or B6?"

"I, I don't know." Suman looked back at the paperwork, he had gotten into the habit of asking to see the results himself, all these years at the doctor's office and it was only partially like a foreign language to him now. "I'd have to check my vitamin's,"

"Do that." Fiidora pushed up from the counter and stood before him. "Mr. Dark, if we don't get these levels down you could develop any number of anxiety disorders, and that's the good news. If the hole in your vertical wall expands or gets torn we could be facing serious heart risk."

"What about surgery? Can we close the hole?"

"No, any suture we do has the potential to rip open again, and cause even more damage.

"What are you saying Doctor?" Suman demanded, meeting his eyes.

"I'm saying that, unless we find the problem and fix it, your daughter won't be the only one needing a new heart." Suman shoved the folder back at Fiidora's chest and stormed towards the door. "You know it's odd." He said before the man was all the way out. "These levels, it's like nothing I've ever seen. Almost like someone injected it right into you."

Suman's prosthetic gripped the doorframe hard enough to crumble the wood, and then he was gone.

_**IA**_

Allen stormed through the lobby of the hotel, brushing right past the startled staff and guests and ignoring the pinched, scandalized face of the manager, taking the stairs up to the suite the patriarch of the family resided in for his visit. Standing stupidly in an elevator would not be good for his temper, bottling up this barely restrained…he couldn't even tell what he was feeling, some swirling combination of betrayal, murderous rage, and a sadness that threatened to swallow him up like a yawning crevice beneath his feet. So he took the stairs, and let the burn of his legs and lungs focus him.

The Millennium Earl insisted on being present in every Akuma drug delivery. Not literally of course, not most of the time, it traveled in smuggler's company, but he left when it did and he arrived when it did, and he kept a constant vigil on its travel. He merely did it all from the comforts of his plush high class hotel room, while his faithful family made sure it all ran smoothly.

A stir of bitterness echoed in his chest and for once he did not smash down his possessor's ill feelings towards the Earl whom he adored so much. At this moment, he shared the sentiments, and welcomed the foreign feeling of Neah slithering through his body. Speaking of family…

Lulu Bell was an ever loyal, ever vigilant shadow to the Earl and it was she who stood beyond the door with Cyril chatting airily with the Earl over tea and scones. It was she, in her dark glasses and trim black suit who saw the darkness clouding his face when he slammed into the room, and it was she with her golden hair and cold demeanor who tried to intercept him.

But no one was as fast, as strong, or as terrible as he when he was driven by his righteous, vengeful fury.

"Allen, what a pleasure, did you finish the-"

He slammed his palms flat on the table and shouted with a voice high and near anguished, "Why is Sachiko an Akuma?" The delicate china trembled from the force, the tea overturning and the jam falling to the floor. Lulu was at his side, gripping his arm in a vice and pulling him away but he shook her off, and shaking off Lulu Bell was an act that measured truly the power of his emotions, as she was not one to be shaken easily.

"Allen, dear, calm down. What's wrong?" Cyril was standing, but did not touch him; Lulu also refrained from another attempt at contact. The Earl kept eyes locked with his own, as if… as if he could see how close to the surface Neah was. Allen swallowed, swallowed back his anger, his tears, swallowed back the words he would regret and the actions he couldn't possibly go through with, swallowed back the man just beneath his skin tearing at him to get out get out _**GET OUT.**_

"Why?" he asked, trembled, and sank to the floor beside the knee high table.

"Allen, breath." Cyril, kind fatherly Cyril, was kneeling on the floor beside him, arm around his shoulder. "What happened, what's wrong?"

Allen pulled out his phone and drew up the list of Akuma Vial Deliveries. Sachiko's name was there, plain as anything. He set it down on the table in front of the Earl, his sad accusing eyes never wavering. The large man before him reached out and picked up the thin device, reading the name, but not the significance, while Cyril shushed and rocked the unstable man.

"I'm sorry Allen, I don't know who this is."

"Bullshit." He spat.

"Allen Walker." Lulu's voice was cold and sharp as a whip.

"Bullshit. You were there; you are there for the registration and inoculation of every Akuma in our ranks. She was a Level One less than two months before converted to L2, she's a small red haired female of Japanese descent, she works at a topless club called Doll House on Orange Blossom Trail run by a woman who has close ties to Cross, she has been _my__friend_ since I was sixteen years old, _**don't tell me you don't know who she is!"**_

The Earl put the phone back on the table in front of Allen, careful to avoid the lake of spilled tea. "Allen, I'm sorry. Had I known she was a friend of yours of course I would never have sanctioned hooking her."

Neah was in his ears, his eyes, his mouth, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from letting him speak, from letting him tell the Earl just what he wanted, do to the Earl what he wanted. Pulling at the edge of his leash the phantom turned to him in his mind's eye with incredulous fury. _**"Lies." **_The voice hissed in his mind and he jerked his head, his eyes fluttering closed. _**"He lies." **_His head moved like a snake as Neah took him by the shoulders trying to shake sense into him, _**"He meant it." **_Jerky, but bobbed and swayed at the voice, "_**Allen he did this, don't let him tell you otherwise, don't let him convince you."**_ Rolling on his neck._** "Where is your anger? She was your friend and he did this!"**_

"I understand." He opened his eyes and looked sadly at the Earl, unable to focus enough to see the hint of glee tickling the edges of his forlorn face. "I understand." Neah raged against his skull with a force he felt he might break right through it; his eyes throbbed with the effort to hold him back, leash becoming chains, cuffs and collar growing heavy with iron, the flimsy door they opened so easily for each other slamming shut with a clamor of near finality. He never understood, he saw in the Earl the plead, the wish, the desire to see Neah break free, and he felt Neah's immeasurable will to lunge right through him as if **he** was the ghost, but he felt if he did, he feared if he let Neah out he would…do something. Something Terrible. To their family. "I realize you couldn't have known. I'm sorry." He laid his head on the table, tired, so tired, and watched Neah's blazing eyes through the bars of his prison.. "I don't know why I did that."

"You were upset." Cyril soothed, petting his hair down, picking up the linen napkins and swiping away the tea that ran close to his nephew's face. "It's okay, we all get upset sometimes."

This family that he loves, that he was told from childhood that he was supposed to love. What did Neah want to do to them? What?

"I'm sorry." He rubbed at his eyes and looked at the Earl apologetically, who gazed at him in equal sorrow, though for what? For what? For Sachiko or….

"Allen, you know once a person becomes an Akuma there's no turning back. They can never be cured."

"Yes," he whispered, "I know," and left.

"That was cruel." Cyril said when Lulu checked the door and saw that Allen had gotten on the elevator.

"So close though, you saw him. In his eyes. The 14th was almost free." The Earl settled back against the chaise and sipped from his cup of tea, which miraculously had not spilt. "I thought for sure that would work."

"Earl, if Neah were…a danger to you of course Allen would feel it, would suppress him. Is it not best to simply let it run its course naturally?"

"It's been over ten years since Mana died Cyril, how much longer do you intend we wait?" There was irritation in the voice, and Cyril should probably have known not to say what he did but…he was an outspoken man.

"Would it not be easier to disregard Neah entirely? Is Allen not enough?"

"No." The Earl set his cup down amongst the cluttered and broken china, words as hard and cold as steal. "Allen is not enough."

From the doorway Lulu looked on impassively.

_**IA**_

Suman sat in his apartment, shared with three other Order members, two of which were part of his team. He sat on his bed, in his room, with his head in his hands.

He had been with the Order for years, almost fifteen years, his daughter was a teenager, was turning 18 soon, and he had given her everything he possibly could to make up for his absence, but it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough for her, a growing woman with no father, wasn't enough for him, who hadn't seen his family in so long outside of monitored semiannual visits.

An hour every few months was hardly appropriate.

On the screen on the computer were the Order's secret research files. He had been with them so long of course he knew how to get into the system, get the information he wanted. And here it was. The Akuma serum. The order's copy of what they believed to be the Akuma drug. He had heard of it, whispers among the science department and members of Central, but it was all hush hush, and supposedly voluntary.

It was supposed to be voluntary.

Yet here he was, with unexplainable symptoms, questionable blood tests, and this growing fears that…that after all these years the order finally found the perfect use for him.

As a lab rat.

_**IA**_

Kanda was not happy.

Kanda was, possibly, never happy, though he admitted there were moments of contentment in his life, he hadn't been happy since long before he transferred to Japan as a preteen. Today, however, was pushing his limits. After being forced into teaching the stupid class, which he was determined to get done in less than an hour, he had had to answer questions, which meant listening to people, and responding to them with something other than 'you're an idiot.'

And Lavi and Lenalee had interrupted to 'correct' him more times than he thought he had the right to tolerate, so he had thrown the remote at Lavi, it wasn't his fault the bastard had ducked and it hit someone visiting from central. They should have ducked too, or Lavi should have accepted his punishment like a man. It wasn't his fault. He had explained as much to the evaluators who held the classes, and the supervisors who they in turn complained to, and to Komui, who was in charge and therefore responsible for him, and he just ended up snarling at the visitor's superior who had actually had the balls to try and reprimanded him, and it all just fell apart after he punched the guy in the face.

He needed a cup of tea.

So here he was at the temporary marketplace on the boardwalk around Lake Eola, walking among the multi colored tents erected to house the merchants and their wares. They were like some bazaar out of a fiction novel, and only appearing on the weekend, of course he'd have to teach the class on Sunday, and so he had limited access to what was becoming his favorite shop.

The spice stall could be smelled from four tents away in all directions, which was good because these things never stood in the same order week after week. It was a local Tea farmer's tent, and it sold thousands of different loose leaf teas and mixtures. He could just grab what he wanted, go up to the person running it, and buy. Or browse in the calming aroma, maybe even try something new if he was feeling particularly pliant that day. Today was not such a day, he wanted his usual blend, and God help everyone if they didn't have it.

"Yes, thankyou." That voice. It brought him up just a few steps away from the tent flap, and he peaked around it to see. White hair, medium build, annoyingly overemphasized manners. Allen Walker. Who was now face to face with him as he walked out. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry." He blinked, then smiled. "Kanda, how nice to run into you."

Kanda just watched him with a scowl. His eyes were red and a little swollen, and his lip looked like it had been ravaged by someone's teeth, there also appeared to be a bruise on his right upper arm where someone may have grabbed him, the other was…hidden behind his back. "Move."

Allen blinked, a spark of temper flashed in his eyes, the corners creased, and his smile tightened. "I'm quite certain you can go around." Was his reply, and remained where he was.

"The polite thing to do," Kanda sneered, "is step aside."

"Indeed it would be." He waved a hand to the left in invitation for Kanda to do just that.

"Just fucking more over asshole, I don't have all day."

"I see absolutely no reason why I should accommodate someone as unbelievably rude as you." Allen lifted his chin defiantly and, though Kanda was a good bit taller than him, managed to look down his nose at the Asian man. "I'm afraid if you want to pass, you'll just have to go around. I'm not moving."

Kanda hauled him up by the shoulders, spun, and dropped him on the opposite side.

"Let go of- what did I tell you about manhandling me?" He shook free of the hold and shoved the man hard in the chest.

"Was that before or after I kicked your ass?" He caught Allen's wrists when he shoved again, pulled the prosthetic towards him, hard flesh colored plastic and corded wires at the elbow, ball jointed fingers like a mannequin.

"Y- you! Let me go." He twisted, but the hard plastic and metal was not as pliant as his usual and the straps dug painfully into his back. "Nanda yo omae-wa?" He snapped out with his right hand, gripped Kanda's long hair, and pulled.

"Fuck!" Kanda released him. "You little bastard."

Allen gave an ugly snarl, huffing, holding his left arm protectively to his chest. "Well there you go then, got your way. Go on, walk on, fuck off. I hope whatever you buy gives you cancer."

"You don't want to keep picking fights with me, asshole."

Allen's face twitched, and that same teasing grin he saw that night two weeks ago slit his lips, malicious, dangerous. He stepped up, toe to toe with him, and looked him in the eye. He smelled, an odd thing to notice now of all times, of oatmeal and cocoa butter. "You're cute Kanda," his smirk fell, "but not that cute. Keep pushing me, you won't like what I do." His voice leveled in to a husky fluid British that promised much… of what was left ambiguous.

"Please," his pulse thrummed, "one good hit and you'll be a scrawny white vegetable. Like… a _Moyashi_."

"Moy- who's a beansprout?" he flushed embarrassed. "That supposed to be a Jap version for titch Nancy boy?"

"I have no fucking idea what you just said, but it means I could put you in a coma."

"Yeah right."

"Yeah. Right. You'll be a little vegetable all weak and puny in that hospital bed, your family crying about how you should've picked your fights better."

"I'll make you a vegetable."

"Sorry Moyashi, I'm-"

"Don't call me Moyashi!" He yelled, thrusting a hand out and pointing at the exit, "Just get in your rice wagon and leave."

Kanda's lip tipped up in a smirk "no"

""Omae wa noutarin ka? Achi Kaere."

"Someone knows Japanese. Is that supposed to impress me?"

"Kutabare o baka ze." Allen huffed. "Whatever, this is all pointless, I'm leaving."

Kanda waved him away with a patronizing grin. "Abayo."

Allen glared. "Kusotare."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, fuck you, good bye." He walked into the tea stall, glaring at the amused expressions of the people around him.

Allen's cheeks puffed up like a blowfish. "Bakeru!" He yelled. "Kutabare! Naboken nayo! Kishima tama!" Kanda ignored him, picking through the little ziplock bags filled with tea blends. "Dobo! Tako! Sukatoro! Bonkura! Aho! Omanko!" Okay, now Kanda was getting angry.

"Will you shut up!"

"Baka! Bakabakabakabakabakaba- Kanda!"

"What did you just-" He spun to face the albino but the man was suddenly right behind him, eyes wide, palms out, he rocked back on his heels to avoid smacking into him.

"Don't," he put a hand on his arm to still him, "move." He reached out and gently scooped up the butterfly that had landed on Kanda's shoulder. "There," he cupped it in his hands and hurried out of the tent, extended his arms for release. It opened its wings twice, slowly, before taking off.

"Okay." Kanda stepped up behind him. "Freak. But more importantly what the fuck did you just call me?"

Allen stopped watching the pretty bug and instead studied him. "Baka." He stated simply.

"No, after that."

"Your_** name**_?"

Kanda's eye twitched. "Forget it." He turned to go back.

"Forget your..." A large, open mouthed _ah-hah _smile spread his face wide. "_**Wa~ait**_**."**

"Shut up, forget I said anything."

"Oh that is funny, and a rather unfortunate coincidence for you. Hmmmm..." Allen tapped a finger to his chewed puffy lip.

"If you even,"

"Ba-"

"I mean it." He clenched his fists.

"Kan-"

"Don't,"

"Da."

"Fuck you Moyashi."

Allen's smile skewed. "BaKanda"

"Moyashi."

"BaKanda."

"Moyashi."

"Ba Kan Da"

"Mo Ya Shi."

_"Stars."_

"B A K A N D A."

_"Stars." _

"M O Y A S H I."

_"Stars."_

They opened their mouths, stopped, turned to the newcomer in their conversation. "Hello?" Allen asked first, Kanda scowled. It was a scraggly homeless looking man of indeterminate age; he couldn't be more than mid-thirties, who was staring at Allen wide eyed and a little freaky.

"_Stars."_

"Wha—"

He lunged, tackling Allen to the ground and grabbing his head between his grubby hands. "_Stars stars stars,_" he chanted, slamming Allen's head into the concrete.

"Hey!" Kanda pulled at him, managed to get him off after two blows to the albino, wrestled his arms behind his back and cuffed him. With a knee to his spine he looked up. "Stop screaming for fucks sake." he yelled at the crowd.

"_Stars,"_ the man repeated. Kanda checked the arms, no needle tracks, not an Akuma or heroin junky, could be on something else, pills, smoking, who knows.

"Hey do you kn-" Allen remained sprawled on the brick pathway.

"He's not moving." "Oh no." "Dude he's dead." The crowd rippled with anxiety

"Shit!" he grabbed a random guy. "You, sit on him." He shoved the man at the vagrant. "Shit, shit." He ran his hands over the pale face; those two blows against the concrete could have done severe damage. "If you actually do become a vegetable I'm going to be really pissed." There was no blood, which could be a good thing or could mean he was hemorrhaging internally.

"Call the police." He snapped at some teens taking video and gingerly straddled the body, shielding him mostly from view of the camera phones, leveraging himself above on his knees. "You," He pointed aimlessly into the onlookers," hold his head, right there. Don't let it move." Allen's breathing was erratic; his pulse was slow and weak.

"Oi, Baka." he called. Placing a fist on his sternum he shook it rapidly. "Hey, wake the fuck up. I swear I will call you Moyashi every time I see you if you don't open your eyes right now. Oi! _Kuso_." He pulled out a pen light and careful not to move the head checked his pupils. Scowling at the way they retracted and dilated differently, the right eye wasn't reacting to the light at all. He checked nostrils and ears for fluid, and the inside of his mouth. His teeth clipped a corner of the tongue so he couldn't tell if the blood was from the bite or the head wound.

"Won't he choke on his tongue?"

"No. That's stupid, shut up and hold him still." Carefully he shifted him to the recovery position. "You, moron, find someone with a flat surface big enough for a body," The man stood from Allen's head and hurried away, he pointed to another random person in the crowd, "you go grab those belts hanging at the clothing stall. Down there. Now."

He barked orders and people scrambled to follow them. The tea stall owners were there in their tent entrance, watching, and across the walkway were the soap makers and the honey farmer who he shopped at, they had to watch their merchandise of course, people didn't stop shopping for something as mundane as an unconscious young man, but they did garner a crowd who were busily preserving the moment with their phones and video cameras.

He snarled at them when they got too close. "Get that phone out of my face before I give you all a view of police brutality." And though it looked like the crowd would really like to get that on camera, no one wanted to be the guy getting brutalized, so they kept their distance.

The man from before came jogging back, Kanda hadn't cared to get a good look at him and only realized who it was by the two fists of belts, chased by three other men. "I got the belt-oohhhph." The three others tackled him.

"What is wrong with Americans?" was all he could bring himself to say as two feet from the very likely seriously wounded Albino four grown men wrestled over belts. "Police!" He snarled, "Get the fuck off him you _**retards.**_" He pushed up away from Allen to grab one and haul him off.

"He just stole these belts from that stall." The man declared.

"I sent him to get them you asswipe." Fucking good Samaritans, never there when it's convenient, always when it was most annoying. "Sit, now. You two, up, sit beside him. You want to be helpful wait here."

"We got stuff to do, man."

"Not too busy to chase someone over a handful of belts. Sit down and shut up."

"I found some people who have a couple surfboards, they went to go grab a long board now." Kanda snapped his head towards a guy breaking through the now excited group around them, the newest development convincing their audience this was worth staying and watching. It took a moment to register what the hell he meant.

"Good," he replied. "Make sure those guys don't leave."

"You ah, want me to sit on them?"

"The fuck would sitting on them do?" fucking _**people. **_"You, belt guy, you okay?"

"Yeah, good, tore my pants a little." He was gathering the scattered belts. "Is this enough?"

"Should be."

"Coming through!" some girls in bikini's and cutoff shorts came jogging through the crowd, three of them, holding a surfboard above their heads. "Got you a body to move?"

"Hold it a moment. You," he pointed at the tackle guys, "get his feet, you grab his thighs, you lift his back" he put his feet back on either side of Allen's body and cupped his shoulders and head, keeping his spine in place. "We're going to lift him, just enough to slide the board under him." He motioned the girls to the feet. "When we lift him, slide it under."

"Got it."

"Lift on three, One Two Three." They got him up, then set him back down on the board." Belts. Now." He bolted some of them together and slid them under the board, then lashed them across the shoulders, torso, thighs and ankles.

Three uniforms arrived and took the homeless man from the random stranger Kanda had instructed to sit on him. "We've notified paramedics, but most of the streets are still blocked off for the relay race, and the ambulances they had on call here have already taken people to the hospital." 

"There was a race?"

"Yes sir, around the Lake and down the residential areas to Jackson. It's why it's so busy here today."

"Fucking perfect. ETA?"

"They said twenty minutes.

"That's a forty minute wait for him. We don't have time. It'll be faster one way. Do you have a van?"

"I do." a woman with several kids broke from the crowd. "I have a van, the seats fold down.

Not even questioning random helpful idiots anymore he barked "Let's go then." Kanda took the point of the board, keeping Allen's head in place, and they carried the board to the street where one of the officers pulled up with the woman's van, having retrieved it from a nearby garage and got it past the blockade.

"Here's my cell number." The other uniform said. "We'll bring it back to you when we get him to a hospital. If we aren't back in an hour call me." 

"Yes officer."

They fit almost the entire longboard inside and bungeed the doors mostly closed, Kanda stayed straddling the board keeping Allen in the recovery position. 

"How come you got to give your number to the hot soccer mom?" The driver demanded.

"Shut up and call the hospital."

"You always get the chicks. Hello, this is Officer Hadit LaForteza, we're bringing in a young man approximately 20 years old, sustained head injury in an assault, unresponsive. ETA twenty minutes." He laid on the horn and made his way through the crowded street. "Fucking wish we had a siren. All the streets from Rosalind to South Eola are closed for the race, we'll have to take Summerlin," He halted at the barricade and shouted at the guy there in Spanish, who shoved at the bike racks, shouting at his counterpart on the other side of the road to do the same. They slide through, out of the area, and into regular traffic.

They were halfway down Orange Avenue when Allen's eyes fluttered open. His eyes were turned towards the window, and for a moment his world didn't make sense, why was the world moving? With the realization of where he was came a sudden terror. Kanda saw the pupil of the left eye dilate and his breathing came it hitched gasps, his pulse was a rapid hum beneath his fingers more befitting a small animal's, fast and frightened.

He panicked.

"Get off. Let me go, let me out. Let me OUT! LET ME OUT!" He twisted and writhed and spat. His eyes wide and unfocused, his skin a bloodless ashen pallor. Kanda kept him vised in his arms, pinned to the seat beneath him, using his full bodyweight, as Allen thrashed. "Let me go, get off, get off!" He screamed. The absolute, unreasonable terror in the voice dug at everyone in the van.

"What's wrong with him?" Officer LaForteza demanded, stalled at the light on Gore st, unable to run it due to the three cars in front of him.

"He just suffered a head injury; his brain's not going to be working right. Can you restrain him?

Kanda was blanketing him completely with his body. "I got him." But the brat was a lot stronger than Kanda had thought he would be. They sped the last 300 feet to the hospital, horn blaring. Kanda struggling to keep the now weeping man still. The absolute agonized fear on his face, a face Kanda kept pointed straight at the windows of the van in an attempt to prevent him from further damaging whatever injury he might have, burned itself into his mind.

He felt the hands of all his ghosts tugging at him, felt the world rush and blur and felt himself slipping back into that place. Back into that cold lab with the pain and fear and sick sticky blood on his hands, his cloths, his face, in his mouth in his nose, everywhere copper and so hot in the cold cold air it almost burned and all he could see was red red red red red.

Only when the doors were opening and the medics were climbing in with him did he even notice they had stopped.

"Let me go, let me out. I don't want to be here, I don't want," his body convulsed and Kanda felt a moment of panic that he might seizure. He vomited, buckets of slop that looked like the pureed mixture they tossed into the water to attract sharks, pink and red and, a bloodied gelatinous mass.

"Well, that'll take a while to get out." One of the medics snarked, Kanda pushed himself off to one side and helped to lift Allen completely out of the van and onto a gurney. "Good field brace, you do this?" she asked Kanda, who ignored her and kept pace with the rushing trolley.

"Need 10 milligrams diazepam!"

"Unequal dilation."

They injected something into the struggling patient's arm, and when he stopped struggling began unbuckling him, moved him onto his back, and slid the board out from under him so he rested fully on the gurney. Kanda couldn't follow them into E.R, he knew this, but kept pace with him until the end. The eyes, those frightened, confused, silver eyes pinned onto his face and stayed there. Pleading? Accusing? Or simply because his was the only face familiar.

He stood outside the doors, watching through that little window as they continued down the hallway.

His cell rang.

"What?"

"Kanda, what's your 20?" it was Marie, and he sounded urgent.

"Lake Eola." He lied.

"I'm 51."

"What the hell for?" His fists were shaking. Why were his fists shaking? Because that frightened, caged look drug him back just a little too far in time? Made him feel that…again… who was the bastard to make him remember what it was like…what it…when they…Fuck.

"Daisya hasn't checked in all day."

"Yeah I noticed he wasn't at the class," thank god. "It's Sunday, he probably blew us all off. Keeping the Sabbath and getting shitfaced "

"He answered a call this morning about an Akuma drop, went to check it out. Last we heard it was a no show, he was heading back. That was hours ago."

"A drop? Everyone knows those leads are bullshit. No one can track the Akuma drug, we've been trying for years."

"That's why Daisya went alone, but it's been too long, we're just going to check. I'm around the corner by the library, can you pick me up?"

"Fuck, he probably just ditched class." He rubbed at his neck. "Yeah I'm coming, I'm illegally parked anyway. Be there in thirty, this fucking crowd." He ended the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket, with a final look at the doors he turned on his heel and left.

_**IA**_

The alleged drop was supposed to take place at an out of business catering company. It was a quaint building snuggled between a closed gas station and an empty lot where the fast food chain had burned down two years ago. The grass and weeds were overgrown and the cluster of conserved trees behind were slowly toeing back into the area. Kanda left Marie and Choaji by the car, asking the enormous blind man to wait inside the claustrophobic space was too much even for him.

Scaling the chain link fence was simple enough; it looked pretty well maintained for being abandoned for two years. Pretty stable. No sagging sides where rain or winds had compromised the foundation, and no wines or weeds covering the gate. The padlock was free of rust, and there were fresh car tracks.

He could just barely see Daisya's car in the thicket behind the building, and scowled. Even if it was a most likely a flop there was no excuse for such sloppy cover. His blood hummed and he drew his weapon. If the car was still here…

Crouched he crept through the weeds and brush, eyes and ears open. He wanted to go and check the car, but the dense trees provided too much cover for attackers, so he made his careful silent way to the building.

Someone had boarded up the windows and made some half assed attempt to cover the graffiti looping across the walls with thin translucent white paint. He could see the varied and colored profanities inviting onlookers to fuck themselves bleeding through in foggy black lettering. The effect gave it a ghostly, white washed feel.

He circled, looking for an opening. An unsecured door, and unbarred window. He found it when he reached the large roll-up door he assumed was for deliveries. It was opened to its fullest and gave him a view of a clean, clear docking room.

Holstering his gun he pulled himself up with the guardrails and swung over to the concrete, landing with a thud and the fluid drawing of his weapon again.

He stepped to the side of the door leading inside, the handle giving easily beneath his fingers and he opened it just a crack, listening. The air was silent, but far from dead and stale, the currents flowed cool as a morgue. He went in low, crouched below the doorknob, and swept the room with his gaze and gun. Nothing moved in the dim light of evening, nothing stirred.

Rising he moved in.

It looked to have formerly been a kitchen, wide, with stainless metal tables and cabinets, large appliances. Along one wall stood multiple Aegis refrigerators, walking along he peeked through the glass to the contents. Small, slim vials with blood type rankings lined drawers.

Instinct slithered up his spine like a serpent, coiling heavy around his shoulders, tensing to knots to accommodate, and hissing in his ears. He should call Marie, but the radio made a noise when activated, annoying on a regular day but the chirp would deafen in this tense, silent air.

He needed to clear the rest of the building.

The first floor was the kitchen, large pantry and walk in deep freezers where organs in clear plastic bags sat in containers ready for shipment, as well as a small restaurant area up front that had been converted into a lounge area. It took time, tedious, pulse pounding time, but he cleared every room, every closed area and small dark corner, and made his way to the offices upstairs.

The first door he hit gaged him, the smell of blood so heavy it rocked him on his heels and for one terrifying moment he was back in that cold, sterile lab, felt the bite of the sharp blades as they sliced into him. It was that stupid asshole's fault; he had been shaky since he left the hospital. He smashed himself back to the present, took his shaky, terrified past and shoved it down into a pit and forced himself to look, look at all that blood, look at the line of cold metal slabs, smell the chemicals, and recognize the body ripped open and laid out in a grisly, perverted mockery of an autopsy, the gaping hollow cavities gouged into the body, the glistening wet viscera.

To hell with silence, he activated the radio pinned to his coat. "Marie, I found Daisya. Call it in to Komui and the Old Man, and tell them to bring a body bag." He clicked off and cleared the rest of the building.

_**IA**_

This is 30 pages to make up for the unbearably short length of the last chapter, 14 pages? Seriously? I'm disappointed in myself. I promise the rest of the chapters won't dip down below 20 again. It was going to be 43, but I decided the last two scenes could be the start of the next update.

And congratulations on sitting through my bloodborn pathogen lesson everyone! (yes, that class is very boring, but also very essential) You are now versed in the ways of biomedical waste, and what I have to deal with at work when drunks barf on me.

You guys have no idea how difficult it is to sort through all the neurotransmitters and pick out the ones I wanted. From Amino acids to peptides to Menoamines. Then get down to the basic drugs. I'm very glad I still have these neuroscience books on my shelf, as they helped me in ways wikipedia only wishes it could. Love you Ramanchandran! Seriously, read all his books, they are the shit! I love this man. I have his encyclopedia set and The Tell Tale Brain, and Phantoms in the Brain, and I'm ordering Emerging Mind.

If I'm ever involved in a criminal case that requires viewing my Internet history and library collection I sincerely hope they accept my "it was research" excuse, otherwise I am going to look some kind of evil mastermind bent on global destruction.

Which, okay I totally am but only to fictional Worlds. :)

I am a little sorry that I spent so much time building up Suman, and then kill Daisya without even a character introduction or anything. He's just been that guy over there who speaks sometime. Ah well, he'll get more air time as a corpse.

More people die next chapter. I'm not kind to background characters. 

-Rin


	4. Beryllium

Hey everyone. If you read the first part of this during April fools, you didn't read it all. This chapter is over 40 pages, and my April fool's joke was only 10. Don't skip this; it has character development and…stuff. Also, for those who thought my joke was funny, thumbs up. For those who didn't, meh old meme is old. For those who didn't get it, boo you fail the internet. =.= And if you didn't even see it, just…don't bother with the above.

Now, to answer the riddle. When you burn lithium the flame is red, but the metal itself burns pure white. It's actually quite pretty. Points to Kola for getting the red part right; yes a type of Lithium is used in fireworks to make the red tint. You kind of only got half the riddle but since no one else tried, yeah I'll give it to you. Thankyou for not talking crazy Italian lady at me most of this month.

Also, Kola, it's called suspense for a reason, put your big girl panties on and suck it up because you won't get the full story for a while yet.

4.) Beryllium

_Such dangerous poison from something so very sweet._

_**IVB**_

Ordinarily one would say finding a body was the perfect ending to a shitty day, but Kanda knew a homicide only made it drag out all the longer, well into the night in fact, and made the going that much messier. He, however, would not be sticking through that grueling process; Tiedoll's team would be smoothly booted off the scene, it was protocol, they couldn't be '_objective'_. Still, he intended, fully intended, to push for a place in the investigation.

He had little hope of succeeding.

Regardless, best place to start was to take control. He did just that as the teams started arriving to process the scene. No one questioned his authority, so he didn't have to make an ass of himself trying to assert it; they followed orders and took their places. He gave a brief report, orally, to Komui upon his arrival to the secured scene. Marie had quickly taken Tiedoll off somewhere; the old fool's emotional wreckage would have only gotten in the way of things.

Kanda purposefully ignored the anxious painful knot twisting itself in his intestines. It was obviously something he ate. Stupid questionable marketplace food cart.

"After visual determination of death I finished clearing the area and secured the scene. No one has entered the building since, Marie, Choaji, and I took up positions around the area until backup arrived. We have not yet approached the vehicle." He capped off the nights events and stood, military straight, before his superior.

"Daisya wouldn't have hidden it so shoddily, nor would he have the ability or desire to bring it on property with that gate up." Komui spoke, looking at the car hidden in the trees. "They brought it in here."

Kanda agreed, "They must have ambushed him in the vehicle to have known where it was, or tortured the information out of him." They had also ripped him open, partially skinned him, and removed his eyes, and teeth, and…

"Tortured? For a car?"

"A simple 'how did you get here,' covers a lot of ground." He flicked a glance at the finder standing beside the captain, who withered beneath his stare.

"Let's get a look at him." Komui motioned for his people to head in and process the scene, when Kanda stepped in beside him he was given a firm, patient look. "Kanda, you and your team may go home. Lieutenant Tiedoll can see Daisya after he's been moved to the morgue."

"Sir, I'm staying on."

"Officers aren't allowed to work incidents involving their own team, Kanda." The Chinese man kept a steady gaze with his officer. "You know this."

'_Bullshit, that's bullshit.'_His mind ranted and his nails dug crescents into his palms. He remained silent, his face impassive, his eyes hard and flat.

"Go home detective, get some sleep."

The Asian man stood there, a line of dark against the glaring lights being set up around the scene to aid the investigators; his coat lifted on a strong twist of wind, and watched them break the lock and enter the building from the front. Watched police and lab technicians and a few ranking officers of the Order, unfamiliar people, strangers, do his job for his team mate. Go home, he said. Where was home? He had no home, none of them did.

But he snapped those same orders at Marie and Tiedoll, who wept into the shirt of the bushy haired new guy, slammed into his car and sped out as best a windup car could, kicking up sandy soil.

Fortunately for everyone on the street he hit mostly green as he drove from Oviedo back to the greater Orlando area, but stopped red at Tuskawilla. His phone rang, the screen displayed a number he didn't recognize and he tossed it in the passenger, gripped the wheel and stared at the light, 'go home,' Komui said, go home, and he thought about doing just that. Contemplated just driving and driving, until he got to the International Airport. He thought about ditching his car in the parking garage, about boarding a plane and heading home. As close to home, as close to independence and freedom he had ever been in this existence, since before he could remember…those times…just beyond his recollection… he thought about them too, couldn't help but think about them, thought about all that had once been.

He thought about Allen Walker in the hospital bed, terrified eyes staring sightlessly into a world of nightmares Kanda knew all too well.

He wiped suddenly damp palms on his pants, furious at himself for going back, for even a moment in his mind. He didn't want to stay here, in this city, this country, he hated the heat and the muck and the fucking mosquitoes.

He wanted to get back to Tokyo and dive into his investigation; he wanted to pin down the location of the Earl's Japan headquarters. He wanted to put the smug faced Noah agent he would eventually sniff out in a box and grill him until the whole damn prefecture smelled Barbecue.

He didn't want to be anywhere close to the somber slate-eyed Allen Walker. He didn't want to be involved in an investigation that would bring them together again and again. Akuma lab or no, Tiedoll's rampant emotions, dead teammate, orders, and Marie's quiet expectations can all go fuck in a ditch. He was gone.

His phone went off again and he ignored it, the light turned green, he continued on. The summer night was just beginning, though it felt as if the day lasted forever it was only 10. There was still so much he could get done. So what if someone he knew was dead. Someone was always dying, especially in the Order, every one of them ran the risk of being killed, that was the job. You did it anyway. You don't have any choice but to.

He never had any choice.

He was pulling into the parking space for his apartment when the phone rang its third time, he leaned the hairsbreadth to the passenger to retrieve it. Its vibration felt grounding in his hand; the number was that same unknown. "What?" he answered.

"You're a hard man to pin down." The voice was Hispanic sounding, he didn't recognize it as Puerto Rican as he was unfamiliar with most of the Latin Languages. "You do realize you're the only person who knows what happened and you just tore out of here?"

He had no fucking clue what... Oh the Moyashi, quite literally now a vegetable. "I had a call from my partner; one of our team went down"

"I see." The voice he now recognized as Officer LaForteza held sympathy that pissed him off. "I'm very sorry."

"Is there a reason you called?" it irked him that he had to force his hand to relax its hold on the sleek glass case of his phone.

"You need to fill out a report about what happened. We have the vagrant in custody, assault charges, but the hospital needs a statement."

Fucking perfect. "I told the doctor what happened before I left. He got his head cracked on the concrete, not much more to it." He tapped his fingers on the wheel, the headache skulking behind his eyes threatened to be a bad one and he hadn't gotten _any_ new tea.

"And it was so much help, especially how we couldn't track down not a single medical record on anyone named Allen Walker so he had a little hiccup, apparently the kid has metabolic problems; they got him on fluids now. But they scrambled for a time, seizure."

"What?" His grip on both phone and wheel turned damp.

"He's stable, no major problems. Minor swelling in the brain, nothing serious, and lots of medical bull I won't repeat as I can't. Managed to track down his contact info, no thanks to you, and his doctor came by with his records."

"Doctor? Personal?" he was stable, he had a seizure, metabolic disorder?

"Yeah, expensive specialist type. Gave him a once over, and the brainy guys a talking to. He was seizing when Dr. Fiidora came in. Took over, stabilized, and handed over the medical recs so it doesn't happen again. Now they're freaked because of the seizure on top of the brain bruise, but MRIs are showing nothing dangerous. Sedated, and kept for observation. From what I know he'll be released in a day or so, but if you can manage, that is if you're up to it, a report at the hospital on top of any report you file at the station would go a long way to putting the guy behind bars.

Kanda rubbed his eyes, he didn't need the uniform to tell him that, but it pissed him off he didn't remember it himself, and now after everything, and he was already home…

Well, it would give him something to do.

"I'll visit the hospital and give my statement." He pressed end and honked his horn. "Usagi, get out here!"

"What!" Lavi looked out his open window to the parking lot, shirtless and hair mussed. "Yu it's ten at night, and I have an assignment in the morning, your horn is officially illegal.

"Arrest me." He deadpanned "Get in; we're going to get the Moyashi's medical records.

"The what?"

"Your white-assed boyfriend. We're getting his records. Worship me in gratitude later."

"Kanda, they've tried. The kid's a mystery, his file is complete bullshit and any official records are locked down tighter than Lavaliere's ass."

"He's in the hospital."

"No shit?" Lavi's eyes goggled and his voice tightened in worry. "Why? How?"

"I'll tell you on the way, let's move." But Lavi was already back inside, dressing.

_**IVB**_

"So he was attacked, outside a tea stall, at a relay race, by a homeless Indian dude quoting Resident Evil in a British accent?"

"Yes."

"And you tied him to a surf board carried to you by half naked chicks with belts grown men got bloodied over."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"You have all the fun."

They were in Kanda's car on the way to the hospital, Kanda had tried to give a brief, clipped update of the day's events but Lavi, being a Bookman, had interrupted him more often than he felt he was qualified to tolerate. Badgering him for deeper details, longer explanations, and had spent a not insignificant amount of time laughing at Kanda's sour face when he had accidentally let slip a fraction of his conversation with Allen, specifically the…Bakanda…insult that was really his own fault. If Lavi started calling him that he… well he was kind of running out of death threats for the idiot.

And now he summed up the event much the same way Kanda had wanted to, and it pissed him off.

"Oh and by the way Daisya is dead."

"Yeah, I believe that."

"He was gutted at an Akuma processing shop."

"Now you're just fucking with me." He smirked.

Kanda remained silent.

"Fuck, really? That just... Fuck." He certainly wasn't all smiles now. "It sucks. I liked him." For having only known the guy a few weeks, Lavi had hit it off well with Daisya, who in turn had been amused and supportive of his antics, especially when they involved Kanda.

"I didn't. But yeah, it sucks."

"So are we mission impossible- ing the hospital to distract you or did you fall madly in love with little Allen when you had him pinned beneath you."

Kanda gripped the wheel until his knuckles ached. "Can you be quiet? For the night. Or the car ride, or hell just the next few minutes can we not have your stupid ass jokes?

Lavi's smile fell. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll shut up." he shrugged, "can't promise the night, but until we get to the hospital. _Silence_." He settled back into his seat, watching the world go by. Kanda's driving was smooth, simple, patient, which said more for his emotions than anybody's blubbering drama.

Daisya? Dead? Fucking unbelievable.

_**IVB**_

Mission Impossible was a fairly accurate image, considering they had to get into the hospital, find where they kept the medical records, and liberate them, though neither of them had any knowledge at all of the workings inside the medical center.

"I don't know, like an office? With filing cabinets?" Lavi sat with him in the car, planning out just how they were going to do this now that they were actually in the medical district's parking garage. Kanda admitted, not out loud or to the idiot next to him but privately grudgingly to himself, that he had really come here on a whim. Yes, to distract himself. To give him something to do. If he was really honest he would admit that he could have told his superiors and had them send a qualified thoroughly briefed team to retrieve the records. He was here, he dragged Lavi here, and possibly got them both into unnecessary trouble, because he had wanted to see the Moyashi. He wouldn't acknowledge that, though, and continued to remind himself, insist, _believe_ that he was here for the records and the records only.

"Seriously? Filing cabinets?" They were currently trying to come up with the best place for medical records to be stored. "Who the fuck uses filing cabinets anymore?"

"Hey, hard copies are still in vogue, how do you think they get it from room to room in those little manila folders?"

"How do you not know this? Aren't you a Bookman?"

"I'm a historian, you're the secret agent. You've honestly never had to steal records from a hospital?"

"I've had to steal a body once, but that was in Indonesia."

"Why did you have to steal a body from a hospital in Indonesia?" Lavi asked, both curious and mildly scandalized.

"It's best if you never know."

"So, maybe the computer, just to start?" When Kanda gave him an odd look he clarified. "The records, just…check a computer? Everything's on computers today right?"

"You'd know."

"You just don't get along well with machines. Because you punch them, punching is not the best way to communicate, especially with machines." They climbed out of the vehicle and made their way to the elevators.

"If they worked like they're supposed to I wouldn't have to hit them."

"They're delicate instruments,"

"Whatever. You can get in right?" The doors slid open and they stepped onboard.

"No worries just get me alone with one and let me and my magic fingers do the rest." He wiggled said fingers and pressed the button for the ground floor.

"You say that to girls, don't you?"

"This from the single guy." Kanda scowled at him. "Aw, don't look like that Yu, I'm sure there's someone out there who'll put up with your pissy `tude." He ducked the swing aimed at his head and slipped out as the doors opened again. "I bet Chomesuke knows a frigid bitch juuuust perfect for you."

"We are at a hospital, I have exactly zero reason's to hold back." He fisted Lavi's collar with full intentions of doing bodily harm and yanked him back two steps inside the glass doors of the lobby, cool air swept through them at the same time a naked woman streaked past. Even Kanda was not so composed as to let the oddity occur without reaction. He halted, and his eye ticked.

"Great." A baritone voice carried from the waiting area.

"I'll say." LaForteza stood up from one of the chairs and watched two orderlies in hospital scrubs try and apprehend the leggy blonde.

"They should keep the doped ones better monitored." Kanda recognized the mountain of muscle as LaForteza's more mature partner, an older black male with hands big enough to crush heads like apples. "Come on, let's get her."

"Why?"

"Because this is a hospital, with children."

"You're gay aren't you?"

"What? Come on, you've seen my wife."

"Right, so you just don't like hot chicks."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've seen your wife."

Lavi and Kanda were careful to stay out of the officers' line of sight as they passed towards the cafeteria, where the woman was currently cackling as she disturbed and amused various guests.

"Well, if that isn't an open invitation I don't know what is. Let's go." Lavi hurried across the tile towards the now unmanned front desk.

"Yes, because these things are _**never **_monitored by video security." But Kanda was right behind him as he started tapping away.

"That's why we're going fast. See, not even locked. Just type in the patient's name and. Fuck."

"What?" Kanda turned from keeping watch to watching the redhead.

"Nothing," he hunched his shoulders defensively, "he's not coming up is all. I'll try a different directory. Might have been misfiled, or hidden. I told you they lock him down."

"Well hurry, we won't get much time."

"See Kanda, this is why you're single. There is not a man in that room who won't take his time trying to catch her." But he was hurrying, fingers dancing as sure as a musician's over the keys. "Shit, I bet even Lavaliere loosens up after some finessing. I can't find it."

"What? What do y- fucking useless I thought you were good at this type of thing."

"Hey, I'm the fucking best outside of Hevlaska, but you can't find what's not there."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means they don't have his records on file."

"Of course they do, his doctor brought it."

"Well it's not here. They don't even have him listed under his real name; he's listed as Iva Tetrels, brain damage, came in this afternoon, now deceased."

"And you think that's him?"

"Only one with head trauma today, says a cop is coming in to fill out a report, I'm guessing that's you."

"You guess right, now guess where his papers are."

"I've got the name of his doctor, let's raid his office." Lavi slid out the chair and they hurried, in an unnoticeable way, to the line of elevators. "You know," He said as they stepped aboard and he pressed the button. "I'm really curious about how you stole that body in Indonesia."

"Find the records and I might tell you."

"Really?"

"No."

"Aw, dream crusher." They exited on the floor for brain trauma and Kanda followed Lavi to where he assumed the office was. It was a simple setup, two elevators and a set of emergency stairs opened to a long hallway lined with three doors that ended with a square room-sized space occupied by a large circular desk meant to sit multiple attendants, surrounded by thick glass and manned by a single nurse ducked down behind her console. Beyond the desk were more doors and a hallway that presumably led to even more doors.

With an eye on the attendant they approached the second door on the right side of the hallway. Lavi had just slipped through to the office when a woman in scrubs came off the second elevator behind them.

She stopped and smiled at him, surprised but not at all alarmed "Yu Kanda?" He scowled, pulse thundering, fuck they were caught. "Oh, gosh that was rude, it's last name first right?" She stepped up beside him, smile fake and polite masking a haggard frustration. "If you're looking for the doctor, he's down with a patient, but if you'll come with me we can get this paperwork out of the way." He didn't dare cast a glance at the door, and simply followed the woman towards the circle of consoles. The other attendant didn't even pretend to care and continued playing facebook games on her phone, hidden behind the computer. His guide didn't bat an eye at her behavior, and simply grabbed a clipboard from a drawer and directed him to a set of chairs to the side. "When you're finished, just let me know." She walked back into a room, in a few minutes she left, not even acknowledging him as she passed back towards the elevators.

He released his breath through his nose when the metal doors closed on her. Turning towards the papers in front of him. He was a police officer, paperwork was the vast majority of the job, knocking out a simple incident report took all of five minutes, but he idled over it, buying Lavi time. What was taking him so long? Was he tossing the whole damn office?

"Finished sweetie?" He looked across at the woman who had been playing the games. Her phone was down now and she had her chin propped in her palm, watching him. He vaguely recognized her, short brown hair, oval face, green eyes, but couldn't place her just yet. He felt a little unnerved by her dark-eyed meaningful look though, and scowled. She tapped her clean, blunted nails on the counter. "Put it here."

He did so; face neutral, eyes flat and bored, placing himself firmly in the line of sight for the office door, chanting a mantra in his head for Lavi to not exit the room now.

"I know what you want." She gave him that knowing smile; he felt his mouth go dry.

"Right." He sneered. "And I'm guessing you're in the position to give it to me?" he scoffed, turned to go sit back down, but held his ground a few seconds more, the office was in full view of the circle of consoles, shit he had to do something. "I'm not interested; go flirt with a security guard."

"Oh, no." She sat up, suddenly flustered. "Not at all, it's not like _that_." Kanda raised a skeptical eyebrow. "See I know the other two officers are in charge of the assault, and that it's kind of a thing with visiting the victim, and its past hours and you got to be family, right?" She rambled, "but you brought him in and I know how personal things like this get." So that's what it was, she was that annoying orderly who had badgered him when he brought the Moyashi in. When he said nothing she walked around the console to approach him. "Here, look at these." She opened a drawer and pulled out two silver pea-sized star earrings. "These were in his ears. It's not unusual for guys these days to have both ears pierced and wear studs, he probably fiddles with them, idle hands, twists them around which is why they were inverted." Kanda picked one up and studied it, put in back in her palm. "See, I think the man is one of those wakkos, the religious zealots, and thought he was the devil or something," she shook her head and replaced the earrings back in their cubby. "Cute kid like that, a little odd, plus there's… the scar."

That got his attention. Having placed her face his anxiety had mellowed out as he listened to the amateur theories, but now his pulse thundered for a different reason. "Scar?"

Her voice lowered in the way of those about to say something they aren't supposed to. "I think he may have been abused, poor guy. He's so young, it's really awful, I can't imagine someone doing something like that to such a cute face."

A scar on his face? His gut clenched, he hadn't noticed one. "Has someone injured him while he's been saying here?"

"No," she shook her head. "No no, at least I don't think so. He's pretty sedated, nothing to put him down because of the concussion, but very calm and a little...well delirious, panicky. We check him every hour, mandatory, though someone's always peeking into the rooms here, habit, just in case. It's pretty impossible to sneak in." Kanda remained silent on that one. "No, this is an old scar. He was wearing some kind of cover-up, probably tattoo concealer since it was a pain to wash off. I have some remover in my bag, we aren't allowed to show tattoos here so I, well I got this cute little butterfly on my neck during spring break, you know? Maggie knew, so she had me get it." She was completely oblivious to Kanda's immense disinterest in her rambling. "He's, well that is, you want to see him don't you?"

Kanda looked back at the elevators, more specifically the office near them. Where was Lavi?

"Don't worry, the officers aren't coming back up." She misread his look. "They left for the night, so you won't get hassled." She was smiling like she knew everything when he faced her, and she may have been at least fractionally right. He did want to see the idiot who caused so much trouble.

"What room is he?" Lavi was taking too damn long anyway, and he would look ridiculous lingering, and he did not want to make…conversation with that woman. Besides, if he left maybe she'd go back to playing her phone.

"Hallway, third door, left side." Her whole body read 'I knew it' and she walked back to the console, pleased with herself. He gave her an odd, confused stare before turning and walking off. He just, well sometimes he just didn't **get** people, which contributed a lot to his dislike of them. He opened the door and stepped inside.

Kanda had only intended to stand in the doorway. To look into the room and satisfy some counterintuitive urge to make sure the whiney little bitch hadn't really become a limp white vegetable like he had, _god was it really only a few hours ago?_threatened to make him. He had promised himself just a quick visit, stand inside until he was sure Lavi had had enough time and then leave. Why a portion of him felt the need so desperately to come here when every other part of him was indifferent and even angry, well he didn't feel up to analyzing that.

This man had ties to Cross, Cross had ties to the NOAH, this man had ties to the Noah, who were the enemy, who killed someone he, grudgingly, considered family, this man was the enemy, this man killed Daisya. The logic was, well, illogical, but he was never a very logical person. So he told himself he was observing the enemy, was monitoring a potential prisoner, until he stepped into the doorway and saw him in that bed.

He was in one of those tie-on hospital gowns, the sheets and blanket tucked around him. An IV slowly dripped fluids into his system through his right arm, his left was..purple?. At first he thought it had been amputated, it would explain the prosthetic, but when he looked he saw it was a complete arm and hand, the size of a toddling child's, not even long enough to reach his waist, and purple tattoos twisting around his bloodlessly-pale shoulders, slashed with what he assumed were irritation marks from the prosthetic harness, they were a bright angry red, like fresh blood against all that white skin.

His hair had been brushed back from his face, his eyes bruised and swollen, lip puffy from before, probably worse from more biting.

What got him, what needled into him like fish hooks and pulled him into the room was the equally red, equally unexpected scar slashing like a mark from an angry fingerpainting child down the right side of his face.

There hung a white board on the wall and he crossed to it, read the scrawling text detailing patient status and needs, it recorded his tetanus shot, mentioned topical steroid skin cream, eye wash for…phthisis bulbi? Whatever that was. Something called Anticonvulsant Therapy was at 6pm, 30mg of phenobarbitone prophylactically, next treatment was due at 2am. There was a clipboard with papers, an intravenous fluid balance chart, a graph like diagram labeled Head Injury Chart with connected dots in columns titled things like eye control, verbal response, and motor response. Little notes like 'alert but confused' and 'panics often' littered the page. There were charts for blood pressure and pupil dilation, only the right one had any recordings on it though, and limb movement.

His speech was also recorded, and Kanda found a choppy, abbreviated transcript of his verbal responses. Most of them were the simple answering of questions by the doctors, some were inquiries of his own, which even Kanda knew was normal, memory loss went hand in hand with head injuries, from the notes it looked like the Moyashi lost about a day.

He pulled out his phone and snapped quick pictures of the charts and graphs, the whiteboard, and of Allen himself. The scar kept drawing him in, no matter how he tried to adjust it into the whole of the picture. It stood out too harshly. The nurse was right. This wasn't new; this was an old scar, a childhood scar perhaps, jagged around the edges from where skin stretched to accommodate a growing face. The red color looked to be the same angry inflammation that scored the rest of his skin.

He leaned over the bed and traced its raised path from chin to cheek to eye, then up until it ended in an inverted pentacle. 'Stars,' the vagrant had said, but he couldn't have seen this, Kanda himself hadn't noticed it.

A shift shocked him into attention and he pulled back, watched Allen's face twitch, his eyelids tremble, crack, and reveal a sliver of sleepy eyes. One foggy, confused gray, the other a clouded white, blind.

When the eyes blinked open fully Kanda was already gone. The albino stretched and, figuring some activity from a nurse had woken him, returned to sleep, the drugs pulling him back under in a hazy cloud of numbness.

_**IVB**_

He was in the elevator going down before he realized he had left Lavi in the office. Swearing he kicked the door and pressed the button to go back up. He may hate the bastard most of the time, and act a world class asshole, but you didn't leave your partner uncovered. No matter what.

The elevator opened on the lobby floor, he saw that they had apprehended the naked woman, or the chase had moved to another location, the open area was quiet but for a few wandering persons, an attendant manned the front desk and a security guard chatted with him.

The doors slid closed again, but instead of going back up, the arrow remained pointed down. He swore at his luck, of course someone would call the elevator, why not, it's not like this day was particularly _**eventful**_.

Two floors down and Lavi and Kanda were facing each other.

"Yu!" He ducked a straight arm jab at his nose. "How'd you know I was here?" Lavi stepped back, indicating for Kanda to exit.

"I didn't."

"Aww, you were going to ditch me weren't you."

"I wish." He glared at the redhead, hands immediately going to his pockets. The place was freezing. Kanda hated hospitals, the chill of the rooms, the harsh chemical smell, the never ending cacophony of electronic beeping and whirring, and the false friendliness slathered over the worn, tired indifference of the faces of the people who worked there. It reminded him far too much of the labs he was born in, raised in, committed murder in. "I filled out that stupid report, then went in to see the Moyashi." This place was freezing and dead silent, like that room, where they all had slept.

"The what?" Lavi blinked then burst out in a grin. "Oh, you went to see Allen. Aww, Yu that's so cute. Did he shower you with love and gratitude?"

"He was unconscious. I just took pictures and left. Why did you leave the office?"

"Because I found it!" he did a little hip wiggle "Kanda, I got the records."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, when you weren't outside I just came down. It was in a morgue freezer under the name Iva Tetrels."

"It was with a dead body?"

"It **was** the dead body. Empty locker. Didn't I tell you Allen was Iva?"

"No." He said automatically, then thought back. "Yes, maybe. Do you have them or not?"

"Yes. I have them. Right here." He held up a small black chip, like a memory file for a camera. "It was in a portable safe in the locker."

"Smart, I guess." Kanda took it, turned it in his hand.

"Who wants to search the stiffs right?"

"Problem," he held it in his thumb and forefinger; "if this is the only copy and we take it, the Moyashi's treatment could be mishandled." He thought back on all the notations for glucose level monitoring and steroid treatment.

"That is such a cute nickname, I'm totally calling him that from now on. No worries, give me your phone." Lavi took the chip back.

"Why?"

"There's an app for that." He laughed and pulled out a small device the size of a hot wheel toy.

"Use your own phone." He retreated a half step as Lavi reached for him.

"Can't, I have a Razor."

"Fucking pussy." But he relented and pulled his phone from his jacket.

"Love you too," Lavi hooked the black thing into the charging port and stuck the chip in that. "I made this myself, isn't it beautiful?" He smiled at Kanda, who glowered, as a program was installed onto his phone. "I'm still working on the other models, only the iphone works with it right now, it'll extract the information and copy it byte by byte, even if it's read only or locked. If it's on there, it's ours… ah," The phone beeped. "Yes, even if it's encrypted, hold on I can fix this."

"Well fucking great," Kanda read the alert that had put Lavi's back up.

"Hey I crack ancient puzzles in dead languages I can handle a little code. For now, full copy, every little gigabyte. Hope you don't mind not having space on your phone."

"That's okay. You can delete your contact if you need more."

"How hurtful."

_**IVB**_

It was past one when they made it back to the station, a small remodeled store front off of International Drive, next to the Fun Spot thrill park and the Flea Market. Komui had personally seen to the preliminary examination and removal of evidence from the scene, and rubbed weary eyes as he pulled into the parking lot. Although the official papers said it was only a remodeled department store, they had annexed a few other closed down stores within the building, breaking down walls to make room for the science department, electronic division, private morgue, and other such necessities the City of Orlando really didn't need to know about. The Black Order had a way of sprinkling it's personnel among the countless divisions of government worldwide without the nations being aware, but in the years Komui had worked for them he had never seen the transplanting of an entire branch, as Spartan as it was.

His first stop would be his office, he had reports to write up and calls to make, calls to follow up on. He wished Reever were in charge of the lab here, but someone had to run headquarters. Instead he opened the door fully intending to call Riggory Peck, a man he found arrogant, insulting, and an overall pain in the ass, that intent evaporated when he was greeted by visitors. He stared in shock, frozen in the doorway, hand on the knob.

From behind his desk, sitting in his chair, Lavaliere smiled. "Come in Supervisor, we have things to discuss."

_**IVB**_

When Allen dreamed, he dreamed of sorrow and pain and loss.

It was a facet of his life he had come to accept. He would never be free of it; he had long ago been made to understand that. Sometimes it kept him awake, fearful of the black void lurking behind his eyes, stalking him like a starving beast. He couldn't sleep at night, where the dark world intensified the shadow of his terrors, where the beasts of his past were strongest, fastest, hungriest. He slept, every day if he could manage, in the blue glow of dawn.

This night he slept in darkness, forced into it by drugs and his own healing body; so on this night when he dreamed, he suffered.

It had been night then too, powder fine snow seeming to dance outside the windows, naked trees like skeletal limbs jutting up sparingly from the sidewalk to curl black against the streetlights and the festive decorations strung about. The car hummed pleasantly beneath his seat, it was so rare he was allowed up front; when they hitched a ride he was always in the back or squeezed between Mana and the door. The radio was turned to Christmas music and they sang along, bouncing in their seats, though he often insisted he was too old to listen to kiddy songs, to bounce. He was eleven now, or would be tomorrow, officially. The excitement of the night had him temporarily forgetting his assertions that he was almost a teenager, practically an adult, and should no longer be treated like 'a baby.'

His paper crown slipped down his head and he straightened it, Cross had given him a packet of crackers and they had pulled them all that night, Mana had pulled the silver crown, but had given it to Allen without him even asking. It looked good on him, Mana always said, soft colors looked best on him. They had then spent what seemed like hours figuring out riddles and Allen had thought Cross was so very wise and worldly, mostly because he swore a lot and didn't scold him when he repeated the words.

The song ended and the host spoke a bit about news, he didn't really like to listen to it, especially when they went on about the Queen's speech tomorrow, he found it boring, but at least he wasn't made to listen to it like he was to go to church. Mana fussed over him, but the other adults gave him odd looks, told him to put his hood down and be still, listen up and _appreciate. _Nevermind that they whispered about his looks when he did put his hood down, he was already sour thinking about them, if there was an old lady like last year who pinched him he was going to blow his top and throw a wobbly and everyone could fucking deal with it. Stupid bint.

They stalled at a light and Mana laughed at his frown, reaching over to rub the wrinkle from his forehead with fingers that squished and prodded and tickled, all the while teasing him.

"Stop pinching me!" he cried in indignation, swatting at the hands that had stretched his face into a mocking Cheshire grin. His crown skewed on his head and he tugged it firmly on, crossing his arms and huffing, but he smiled a little as he watched the world begin to roll by once more. It had been a long time since they had been in London, since they had run away those years ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

In his lap was a brown paper bag of cookie cutters, he dug out a shiny, metal star and turned it in his hand. It gave a glimmer, like silver, in the passing beams of the streetlights and he watched the distorted reflection of the world in preoccupation. Mana was talking, he didn't know if it was to him but he sounded worried, and his voice was muffled. Allen couldn't really hear him, couldn't make out what he was saying, like he had cotton in his ears, he turned to look at him, his face was in shadow, his lips blurred.

Then the world exploded.

The jarring of movement, he was thrown against the seatbelt, felt it catch and suck the breath from him, his head slammed the dash and hot, sharp pain split his face. Sounds, like so many whistles being blown at once, shrieking of metal, the weightless bottomless feeling in his gut and a wall of grey, and Mana's hand on his shoulder.

He woke.

For several blind panicking moments he was back there, in that cold London hospital Christmas day. It was cold, so cold he couldn't feel his fingers and toes, his limbs tingled, his head pounded, he couldn't breathe, everything hurt and the smell of chemicals was so suffocating and his head was splitting, his chest burned, burned burned. It all swarmed around him in a plague of biting emotions and phantoms that closed in on him, his throat clogged, he couldn't breathe.

He groped for the call button, pressed and held as he tried to suck in air in lungs crushed in metal and fiberglass and blood, so much blood, oh god Mana. Mana. Mana. Mana.

_**IVB**_

Neah slumped against the door of his prison.

He had heard every cry, every whispered plea or agonized scream of his name and had pounded and raged against the obstruction that kept them apart. But it was all useless, metaphysical illusions. Allen had locked him away, and only Allen could open the door without consequences.

He could force his entry, but at what price? Even as he listened, as their connection tugged painfully at him like millions of fishhooks tearing bloody strips of his skin while his dearest nephew faught against his past and panic, his rationale reminded him that to break the barrier was to destroy the child he was so anxious to protect.

So as he longed to console his brothers son, to stretch out beneath his skin and hold him in the only manner ghosts can hold the living, he remained, slumped against the fragile illusion of a door, and prayed to his brother's spirit that when the drugs wore off his beloved child would think to look for him in this prison.

Until then, he suffered through the role once more of silent observer to Allen's torture.

_**IVB**_

Lavi and Kanda had agreed that it would be best to unencrypt the drive at home and turn it in, along with a detailed report, in the morning, after a thorough study of the contents and a few copies. Lavi being a Bookman and Kanda just not trusting the Order worth a damn, they didn't think that the information would be made available to them in its entirety by the higher-ups. Lavi had then fallen asleep while the program had been running. When the data came up he had done nothing but glance at the red-head, passed out on the couch, before taking the chip from the living room computer into his own private bedroom, alone to study the contents in peace.

Sitting cross legged on his narrow bed with his laptop balanced on his knees he opened the document he had been working on while the disc had decrypted, a newly created file on Allen Walker, and thought back on the conversation they had had in the car as they drove towards home. Lavi had been unusually quiet for the first few miles as they drove back to their apartment in Metro West. Kanda had not bothered with wondering about it or figuring the reasons, and had simply enjoyed it. For it couldn't last. And indeed it hadn't, because as soon as they reached Millennia Lavi was opening his mouth.

"You know the story of the last time the Earl appeared?" Lavi had asked, breaking the silence that Kanda had been so enjoying. "You know, why his last run faltered, and died off?"

"That one of the Noah's betrayed him and joined the Order," Kanda answered, it was common knowledge. In fact it was basic Order History. "Almost took him down, the Earl killed the traitor and went under with the last surviving Noah for a while, restructured. It's why we know dick about them now; they changed all their little nicknames." Which was annoying, and the Order never failed to blame that one traitorous Noah for ruining their chance against the Earl. Forget that he gave them the chance to begin with.

"Yes, biblical to science, seven deadly and apostles to elemental and alchemical. It's a brain twister."

"The point? Before I stab you with it."

"Well" Lavi tapped a quick repetition against the windowsill before grabbing the chicken stick and pressing his face against the glass, "he did something, sabotaged something really important, something the Order can use, but got killed before he could pass the information."

"So?"

"So…The Noah's name was Neah," he met Kanda's eyes in a brief glance, "Walker.

Kanda's hand tightened on the wheel, fingers snug in places where the cover had worn down by the constant gripping he seemed to do. "Don't tell me..."

"Allen Walker was adopted by the now deceased Mana Walker 15 years ago, making him the only surviving relative of Neah Walker."

"Shit."

"You getting his importance now?"

"You mean to say that skinny little brat is related to the traitor Noah?"

"His only living relative, and Cross keeps him very secured. We don't know if he's part of their group or not-"

"That's a given"

"No, listen: Neah betrayed them, there's no proof Allen is or is not part of the group, but there's the whatever-he-sabotaged element." they hit a light and Kanda turned to look at him fully. "If he had information he may have passed it to his brother, who was with him at the time, who may have given it to his son. We don't know if he's involved with the Noah, for all we know Cross took him to keep him from being used by the Order. But he's important to them."

"If they can be found by us..."

"Our jobs are to monitor Cross to see if he's betrayed us for the Noah, and if the Noah try for Allen, to get him out of harm's way." The light changed and they went on, it was a few moments before Kanda responded.

"Cross knows we're there."

"Of course. He's a veteran Order member. I'm the only one he lets near him, because I'm Bookman."

"If you had told me he was connected to the fucking Noah I would have been on the case." Kanda snapped, rapping a fist against the side of Lavi's head.

"Ow, damn it. You needed to be on the case for me to tell you." Lavi rubbed his temple.

"I'm not on it now."

"No, now Allen is in the hospital and Daisya is dead."

Well, he was right about that.

Allen Walker was an important key to taking down the Earl? If, and it was a big unlikely if, he wasn't already neck deep in the whole fucking thing already.

So, the question was… how far into this shithole did he want to dig?

There was no question he was interested now, and he did need something to keep his mind off the Daisya investigation. The5re was no way Tiedoll would let him go back to Japan, losing one 'son' just as he gained another, no they would need to hold together as a 'family.' Cross did have ties to the Noah, so Allen would be a good ticket to at least fragments of information. Simply talking about the traveling he did as a teen with Cross would go a long way to pinpointing Akuma hotspots. Really it could be very fortuitous for him.

And he was being oddly persuasive with himself. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. It wasn't like he had to convince himself of the benefits of joining the team, he just felt a little apprehensive of his usefulness, which shouldn't normally be the case except that he was fairly certain any encounters with the Moyashi would end in insult and bloodshed. So it would actually be in the investigations best interest to exclude him; and on a more personal level, he just didn't like the feel of the situation. He really just did not want to be near him, there was a wave of something, like solid air, between them that seemed to both push and pull. It was a frustration of an elemental way, something he couldn't change and simply had to weather through, like traffic or high winds.

Except it wasn't a force of nature or humanity, he could bully his way through it, he was sure, as much as he could bully his way through traffic.

He didn't quite understand how or why or what Allen Walker triggered inside him, but it was pissing him off and he had just about enough of it. The best way, he decided, was to drag the dark secrets the man hid out into the light, to upend them and pick through the scattering until every little piece had been turned and examined. Everyone had their private trauma; he saw the faces of the victim every day, in every person he brushed against in his profession. No one was without their scars, once he had unearthed the Moyashi's he was sure whatever pull it had would fade.

That being decided he inserted the disk and began his search.

Almost immediately Kanda got a decent idea of what he was working with, because of the latest brain trauma someone had made notations for the doctors working on him. Considering he had a seizure in their care without it Kanda didn't blame whoever it was for treating them like idiots. Still, he began at the earliest record 16 years ago and worked his way from there.

A knock had him looking up. He was halfway through cursing the awakening of Lavi when his mind registered Marie in his doorway, knuckle raised against the paneling. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you, I didn't expect you to be up this early."

Kanda glanced at the time on his screen, it was past two. "No, it's fine." He almost closed the laptop, then didn't because… well it was Marie. "I'm just working on some stuff. Why are you here?" Then snapped his mouth shut with a click of teeth. DUH. "Want tea? It's my last pot, so get it now."

"Ah, sure. I just came by to see Miranda." Yes, a visit with his girlfriend, a visit that happened to last into the A.M. While Marie walked to the little pot on the desk and poured himself what was left of the Sencha Green Tea, Kanda took this moment of his back being turned to rub the heel of his hand into the spasming muscle in his eye. Of all the idiots Tiedoll claimed were his family Marie was the closest he had to an actual brother, and he in no way wanted to think about his brother having sex in the room down the hall. "Tiedoll has decided to wait until the morning to visit Daisya, give the coroner and investigators breathing room."

"Makes sense, it's just a corpse after all." Kanda had enough respect for the man beside him to stop his research and look him in the eye.

"For once that isn't as callous as you want to make it. Tiedoll said the same last night." Marie, big as a maple and twice as sweet, dwarfed the desk chair he settled into, studying him with pearl eyes over the rim of the mug in his large hands. He looked like a grown man at a little girl's tea party. It was an endearing manner of his, to look both competently lethal and at the same time compassionate and understanding. Kanda also knew he could hear his every breath and heartbeat; that that intense study was him reading his reactions, and he was the only one who could and Kanda wouldn't care.

"That old man can be sensible in some things at least." He tapped the space bar to keep the screen from going to sleep. "Let me guess, he's holed up in his studio sketching out a great tribute."

"A seashore, I believe." He smiled, and it wasn't all sadness this time. "The coastal city Daisya called home, once upon a time."

"God help us if he paints the wall again. You know how he likes to light them up."

"It's his way Kanda, his tribute to us."

"Yeah well, if he ever asks what I want to have painted I'm pouring his paints down his throat." Anyone else would have reprimanded him. Marie just gave him that annoyingly patient look that was both amused and censure. He rolled his shoulders and pressed his fingers back to the keys. "Not the toxic ones."

"Working on a case?"

"Not yet, but maybe soon."

"Allen Walker." Kanda's heart didn't exactly skip, as that would be physically impossible, but his breath hitched and his pulse sped, for a moment, as it might if Marie had pulled a pistol on him rather than a name.

"Yes."

"Sweet boy, clever. He lies very well."

"Lies." Kanda looked at him. "About what?"

"Everything." He extended his arm as if to encompass every encounter he had with the albino. "Sometimes about things he really needn't, his favorite food for one, to Jerry. His favorite color and movie, he lied to Lavi about the book he read the previous night, lied to Daisya about being bad at sports, lies, often, about anything to do with cars."

"Cars?"

"Yes he gets twitchy, little sparks of anxiety, around any car or truck or, well, anything."

"Makes sense," Kanda pulled up what he had gathered from the internet to fill in his findings. "Since his father died in a car crash." He knew Marie couldn't see it, but felt the man's tensed interest. "Listen, this kid, he's a cocktail of disorders, Holt Oram syndrome, type 0 Glycogen Storage Disease, cardiac conduction defect, recurrent post-traumatic stress disorder with panic disorder and major depression. And it isn't like he doesn't get treatment. Everything from medication to a pacemaker. Imipramine during a PTSD relapse, 50mg raised to 250mg over three weeks. It says they tried behaviorally oriented treatment to deal with phobic-avoidant behavior, but he didn't respond well to their techniques."

"Phobic-avoidant? Of cars, I suppose."

Avoiding anything that reminds him of whatever trauma he had was definitely cowardly in Kanda's eyes, a familiar cowardice he remembered well_. 'Has to be bad if he keeps going to these sessions, every couple of months after a relapse he goes into counseling, stays a few visits, then breaks it off and doesn't go back._' "Car crash, that'll do it." he leaned back in satisfaction as he skimmed the report and all the charts he was becoming familiar with, the look Marie was giving him, shocked and impressed, was a little ego swelling. "Eleven years old. Run off the road by another car, slammed into a bridge abutment, crushed the entire drivers side, took the paramedics thirty minutes to arrive, his father was pronounced DOS, nasty mess to clean up. The Moyashi was unconscious, blood loss. So he was probably awake and aware for a while before the paramedics got to them." Shitty thing to see at a young age, he should know.

"Kanda, do you realize this is more information than anyone has ever uncovered on him?" Marie could hear the truth in what Kanda spoke, could hear that, if nothing else, he believed this information he was telling. "All our files, they're nothing. Nothing but ghosts and rumor."

"Yeah well, they have to know something, the big bosses just aren't telling you all. After all, Cross was surveilling them three years before he took the kid and ran. They had to know something. These records, they begin when he's seven."

"Records? What records."

"Medical records."

"Kanda," Marie had to set the cup down, steepling his fingers before his mouth, resting his elbows on his knees as he hunched forward, "how did you get hold of Allen's medical records?"

"I traded for them. He gave me the records and I gave him a world class blow job."

"I didn't know you had any experience with oral."

"Ha ha. Why can't anybody just shut up and accept the fact that I'm a fucking ace detective." Marie didn't choose to inform him that in the ways of deductive reasoning Kanda was sadly lacking. "And the Moyashi is in the hospital. Attacked at Lake Eola today. And before you get all tense and worried like that snoring idiot out there, he's fine, he's recovering, it was practically nothing."

"You just decided to sneak in and steal his records."

"Lavi said it was an open invitation. There was even a nudist psycho to distract security."

"I don't recall ever having that kind of luck in Indonesia."

"No shit, could have used it there." Kanda smirked, assured that Marie had his back, not that he'd doubt it but going in cocky had a history of biting asses. "So, do you want to hear the rest?"

His mountain of a teammate leaned back with a pained protest from the chair. "By all means, brief me on my mission sir detective."

"Shrapnel and a star shaped cookie cutter had to be surgically removed from the left side of his face. He lost sight in his left eye; he also suffered severe injuries to the chest, impaled from shoulder to hip by the wreckage.

"Cookie cutter? He doesn't have any scarring that would indicate that kind of injury."

"He does, I saw it myself. Apparently our target is well versed in the arts of face paint. Considering his makeup is practically indistinguishable from his natural skin tone."

"Interesting, and that would explain his aversion to being on the left of everyone. Blind spot."

"I'm a well of interesting tonight. His first dosage of antidepressant caused his heart failure, until that time no one had even known about his ventricle defect, or the cardiac conduction disease." Fucking up his treatment was apparently a trend with his doctors, as the dosage had caused pulmonary hypertension and the failure of the left side of his heart. "He got his first pacemaker that day, and was dropped to 10 mg imipramine partnered with a therapeutic dosage of doxepin, followed up with serial electrocardiograms." He tapped the screen where the words were with his index finger, no reason he should let on that he had no idea what the fuck half those words meant.

"He went under again at the age of 15 for an independently designed pacemaker crafted by a private firm, one with an advanced blood battery. That's ah, a battery that takes energy directly from your bloodstream, cutting edge even now, still in the 'fuck you, you can't have one' experimental stages." He made a notation of the name of the company for later study. He continued on through the years, following the frequent attempts at behavior therapy, the repeated failures. "He was taken off the therapeutic dosages after he had recovered from the heart failure and was put on the basic 50-250 he's continued to present.

"So this begs the question." Marie picked up his mug and sipped the tepid tea. "How does one recover from PTSD?"

He remembered medication, useless therapy where they sat him with a shrink and spoke soothing things at him, the videos of horror movie deaths and dog fights, the crime scene stills and the trips to the slaughter house, rags stained in pig and cow blood, the headless chickens, bodies convulsing in his hands as the blood shot from the hose that had once been a neck, the severed head staring at him, eyes black and accusing. You killed me Yu, you killed me, you killed me, you killed me.

And as soon as the smell and sight of blood stopped sending him into ashen panic, when he could swallow back the nausea and push forward on legs slightly steadier than warm gelatin, he was thrust back into the Order. Back into the battle, where the smell of blood and death and city grime never washed out. Where every minute of his life was scheduled, down to his school clubs. Where he began the day with basic exercise and torture resistance before school and ended it with deductive reasoning and weapons training, before taking a shot of sedatives to make sure he slept properly for the next day's schedule.

He knew that physicians must demonstrate warmth, empathy, and persistence to help someone through it, and be completely nonjudgmental. His shrink had been none of that. A paper face over an investigative and accusing sneer. He had spent three sessions with the usual therapy before he linked arms with the bastards in charge and decided the new tactic of frequent exposure would be the best course of action. Kanda hated to admit it, but the exposer had been a great help in his coping, even if it had been extreme

"You can't keep running away, you have to face it. That's how you get over it, you deal with it until it's not a problem anymore."

"You mean exposure therapy."

"I mean-"

"You mean like what they did to you.

Kanda was silent, then replied. "Not exactly. Not in that way."

"Kanda, what are you planning?"

This time Kanda sat back against the wall, the pillow a cushion against his back, thinking. He wasn't really planning anything. Allen Walker was a dangerous additive to his life, he could already sense it. And it wasn't, or wasn't entirely, his initial refusal to join the investigation. It was that… apprehension. He had wanted to air out as much of the Moyashi's secrets as possible. So far, it was turning out to be…enlightening, but ultimately ordinary. He wasn't the first one to have a parent die in front of him, making it a foster parent, or having birth defects, didn't really change anything. Kanda had gone through worse long before his first 'family' had been slaughtered in front of him, and he had finished off the last one with his own hands.

Hot, sticky blood, cold white rooms, chemicals and copper in the air. That was what nightmares were made of. A car crash was nothing. He could forgive the Moyashi a lot of things, and in his opinion, since he hadn't murdered the bastard, he had. But this? He couldn't forgive him such an…unimpressive trauma.

"It's just a car crash Marie, it's not like me. Not at all."

"If you say so," He set the cup down on the tray beside the pot and rose. "I can wash these, if you'd like."

"Yeah. Sure." Kanda handed him his own cup. "Leaving? Or going back to bed?"

"Its three, no point in going home now."

"Right."

"Kanda?" He paused at the door. "We know, don't we? What it's like to wake up in a place that holds so many horrible memories."

Dark eyes met blind white and he felt that headache start to stir and wake behind his skull. He didn't answer, and Marie left towards the kitchen.

With a sigh he adjusted and tried to get comfortable, rearranging his thoughts, considering. What did it take to recover from PTSD?

Zhu had been his rock, the one with the genuine interest in the incident, in the meaning of his fears and anxiety, the flashbacks, the illusions. He had drawn him out, had become a confident by means Kanda didn't recognize or acknowledge at the time. Without him Kanda didn't think the therapy would have worked at all. There were certainly times after a session he wanted to curl up in his room and never get up again. One of the things he had done was to educate him on his attacks, so he could understand, recognize his symptoms, and deal with them appropriately. Meditation to calm and clear his juvenile mind of all the rampant thoughts waging war within him, breathing exercises to prevent hyperventilation when his attacks set in.

So, what did he know about the Moyashi?

The records indicated small, cheap doctors and hospitals, no one who specialized in his particular disorders, rare as they were, and all in places two skips shy of the Third World, and the two invasive surgeries for the pacemaker probably didn't help him feel comfortable at hospitals. Then he hit fifteen and suddenly he had specialists and medication that wasn't a concoction of pesticide ridden herbal remedies and voodoo, and that spanking new experimental pacemaker with a battery that ran on his own life juices.

So what could have happened for this sudden stroke of luck, aside from being annexed into the Noah?

Well, he could always wheedle it out of him. If he decided to go the route of amateur therapist. After all, who better to win his trust then a guy who knew what he was going through?

And his mind was jumping spaces. He was supposed to be working on a therapy plan, but couldn't keep his thoughts in a straight line. Marie was right, it was past three, too late to be thinking about all this. He saved his notes and added a copy of the records to his file, knocked out a brief report on their acquiring of the records, and decided he would get an early start on his morning routine, squeeze in a little time to drop by the hospital early morning.

There was another thing he liked about Marie, he hadn't asked him how he was doing, how he was handling it all. Finding Daisya as he had. In that lab where the scent of blood and death and chemicals merged. What was it like, he wondered, to wake up in a place you hate and fear? Kanda felt like he couldn't really remember, it was so long ago. All he had were these incidents, which he normally could keep a handle on, and when they did happen, these brief moments, they could be debilitating. And that was after recovering from his PTSD. So…what was it like?

_**IVB**_

What was it like? Allen knew exactly what it was like. To wake in a hospital with no memories, no clue, no one beside him to tell him it was all going to be all right.

Not since the car crash.

He hadn't gone back to sleep since the nightmare. Had refused the sedatives pushed at him until they had to strap him down to stick it in, he had tried to pull the IV out when the doctor went to slip it in there. Panic was an icy dagger stabbing and twisting in his gut, they were drugging him up, keeping him down, keeping him locked away. They were going to take him away and put him back in that circus, back in the cage with the faces pressed against the bars. He didn't want to go into the cage, into the dark and cold, with the filth and the feces. The chains. Yet for all the hatred he had for that filthy rusty pen it was better than the belly box he was put to bed in every night, and it was much much better than the Tober Omi's tent. Sometimes he fought when they put him in the cage, sometimes he never wanted to leave. The children watching, poking, making fun of him, throwing things and sometimes it hurt.

Sometimes it was food and he could eat. Hotdogs or candy floss. Be grateful for the jerry, he would whisper to himself, be grateful or you may be jerry yourself. _Cute little boy, make your money chavi or you'll be sent to the ken tonight. Do you want to earn your keep up in the slanger tonight chavi?_ His mind was contorted strangely, knotted and twisted, whispering things in the Tober Omi's sweet persuasive voice.

He didn't want to go there; he never wanted to go back there ever again. He would be punished. Punished for slashing what he could and scarpering away with that worthless auguste. Knobs of his gnarled mind still held those whispers, still contained pockets of that voice that made everything seem so ordinary and reasonable.

_Listen here you miserable cuss. Those jossers pay good dinari to visit our humble funfair. This ain't no paper house. We need Mr. and Mss. Wood and all the little woods filled up good yeah? So how about getting off your lazy little ass and putting on a good show for the flatties to dik. Or maybe we'll let a few disgruntled customers have a ducat with __**you**__, hmm? GTFM savvy? _

Aye gaffer. Aye. He'd work good. He'd do his very best and he wouldn't let them down. Pay his way. He didn't want to go to the ken, didn't want. Didn't want.

_Would you like to work in the ken tonight chavi? Let the chesters have you, pretty little thing like you always brings in the dinari. Maybe we'll send you to the bunkhouse, let the real earners relax a bit? That what you aiming for chavi? Sucking cocks at the bunkhouse?_

No no no no nonononononononono. He didn't. He'd be good. He'd play it good in the cage tonight. He'd sit and be miserable and let people look at him, let them touch him through the bars when they pay the extra. Let them tug on his hair and pinch his little arm, touch the flaking red patches on his skin.

His breaths came in fast and shallow, eyes wide as he stared into the darkness. He had begged for lights, but they had spoken about light sensitivity. They were locking him in the dark. He was being put back in the box and this time they weren't going to let him out. Just lock it up and throw it in the river. _Right chavi? Tober mush that don't earn their way get what their mam should have given them at birth._ He could feel the stiffness of the neck brace as he tried to turn, his movements slow and sluggish, his limbs were so heavy he had to drag them across the sheets like a limp corpse.

He called Neah in his mind but there was no answer. Hadn't been an answer for hours. Where was he? He couldn't hear him, couldn't feel him in his mind. Neah? Neah? He almost sobbed at the silence.

"Breath." He gave a terrified look towards the doorway, where a shadow lurked. "Breath, deep and slow. In Out, do it."

Even as he tried the air vacuumed into his lungs clogged until he was gagging on it. When his vision blurred, when the nausea gurgled up in him, the man was beside him, holding his shoulders to keep him from falling off the bed as he was violently, hideously ill.

"Fuck kid, I thought they weren't feeding you yet." He looked up through the tears to see Cross leaning over the bed to hold him. "Lie down, stop fighting the drugs and go to sleep. You're only hurting yourself." Allen couldn't even reply, simply slid spiritless into oblivion. Cross was here, he wasn't alone now. The Tober Omi wasn't coming for him. He was safe. Not like the car crash.

No, not as bad as the car, nothing was bad as the car.

When he woke again it was as though from a long horrible illness. Noone was in the room, had he imagined Cross? His body was still heavy and tender and difficult to move. Allen rubbed absently at the scar on his chest, twinging with the sharp, sweet, phantom pain of a severe injury too agonizing to be felt. Shock, they had called it. The body protecting itself from its own defenses.

He had felt it plenty in the weeks that followed the accident, though that too had been a kind of shock, Between the painkillers and the depression, he had felt very little that first few days. Yet, he had still felt. The loss that was so impossible to speak of, to describe, the terror that came from the very marrow of his bones. The cold doctors who informed him he was now all alone in the world again, that they had notified the authorities and he'd be taken to a home. He would be cared for, they assured in their detached manner. He knew what came with homes. He remembered the circus, remembered what happened to cute little chavi all alone in the world.

Only Mana had kept him safe from that as they traveled, as they worked their way across the island countries, sometimes with a caravan, often alone. Their two man bill. Where they never had a chip with a Gaffer, never had to think about scarping when they didn't make enough. Never had to worry about being sent to the innocuous tent where cake eaters paid to have their time with you.

Mana protected him, cared for him, never asked more from him then he could give. He had never been loved as Mana had loved him.

And he never hated as he hated that black hearted Order for taking him away.

They would pay for that, he promised himself, promised Mana every Christmas when he laid his offerings at the base of that simple stone marker. They would all pay.

They had to.

Weak and tired and trying so hard not to melt into a quivering panic ridden mess, they would just come back with more drugs, the dark was too oppressive, the memories too close to the surface. He needed a moment. He only needed a moment alone, only a moment, within his mind. And so only for a moment he turned his face into the pillow.

And wept.

Kanda found him like that, the quiet, private sounds of his grief sobbed into the soft cotton. Striding purposefully into the room fully intending to break the brat out of his little shell and drag him down to the parking lot. He felt, and it was ridiculous as he had seen so many people cry in his lifetime, but he felt immensely uncomfortable in this unexpected situation. He wasn't the kind to be brought up short be tears, and he wasn't going to offer any words of comfort or sympathy, he didn't think he had any anyway. But he could give him the benefit of not being an intruder into his moment of heartache. With a quiet breath he stepped back out into the hall, leaned against the door, and watched the activity of the hospital begin to shift and morph from night to day.

Hadn't he just spent the past several hours discovering that under the expensive cloths and polished manners were scars?

_**IVB**_

Cross had been there, that was real at least, and had in a moment of benevolence that made Allen's heart weep, he was still sane enough to know it was the drugs, snuck Timcampy into the room in his ever present coat. He could feel the silky ball of blonde as he shifted, curled up in the junction of his shoulder and scenting heavily enough that Allen could smell him over the chemicals.

It was comforting. Though he knew if the poor thing didn't calm down soon the whole room would smell of animal musk. He didn't mind.

Cross knew how much Tim meant to him, since the day he had handed the white joey to him years ago, hardly bigger than his thumb and crabbing loud enough to terrify him. It had taken weeks of patience and boxes of Band-Aids for the chew marks, but they had bonded, and here they were inseparable.

He forced himself to sit up; Tim gave a sound of complaint and gripped with his sharp claws onto the bare skin of his shoulder. Allen would have reached for him, but his prosthetic was missing and he needed his long arm to hold himself upright, surveying the room. It was an ordinary looking hospital room, private single bed. A counter with sink, drawers, and cupboard, there was a curtain to the side of the sink that possibly led to a toilet. A window with its blinds drawn, he could see from the lines between the blades that it was still dark out. His bed was the typical convertible gurney, set in a slight incline to support his head, with an adjustable tray that would swing around to him or out of the way. Above him was an ancient bulky black TV suspended with metal frame. His finger was clamped and an IV dripped into him, the bandage was looking worn and the skin around it looked bruised, not flushed yet though, the attack would come later.

There were two hard plastic chairs with a stingy carpet to give the illusion of a cushion on its bowled seat, one of which had a neatly folded outfit and shoes. Someone had cleaned up the vomit, the scent of not-quite-cat-litter and cleaner still clung to the air.

On the attached tray to the left of the bed beside a plastic cup of water with a yellow bendy straw sat a toiletry kit and a small rectangular case of worn calf skin leather. The edges were frayed, the once yellow stitching was blackened with grime and coming loose, but it was cleaned and oiled and as sturdy as the day it was made, and within its confines were the most precious things he had ever owned. He sat up fully, tucked the pillow behind him, and swung the table around to his front. Picking up the little remote he adjusted the bed to his liking and opened the latch, tapping the case in his hand. Out slid a beautifully detailed antique deck of playing cards.

He thumbed the cards into his palm, felt the texture of the hand painted images on the stiff paper. They were a simple design, created in the days when railroad lines were just being laid and the casinos consisted of a few men traveling with the workers from place to place.

With a deep breath and the calming presence of Timcanpy running in an incomprehensible manner all over the bed, he began the therapeutic action of shuffling and dealing.

_**IVB**_

Officer Mont and his partner stepped off the elevator with a casual air. So far their day had been going fairly well, beginning with a simple follow up with the victim of an assault. It wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence for events like yesterday's relay to produce various assault charges or hospitalizations. Though admittedly this particular incident was abnormal enough to have become an amusement among the members in his unit.

They passed the center ring and turned down the hallway that led to the patient's rooms with a nod to the attendants working at the consoles. Someone, Mont saw, was standing at Allen Walker's door.

"Well looky here, hey detective, what are you doing here?" LaForteza sidled up to the Asian man leaning casually against the door to their victim's room. "I didn't realize our powdery headcase needed a guard."

Mont saw the flash of intent in the slanted blue eyes. LaForteza was a good cop, a bit of a douche but he was young enough, green enough, to get away with it. For now. He'd mellow, they always did or they didn't last. Still, the kid should know to tell the difference between a sentry at rest and a poised snake.

"Back for a follow up Officers?" Kanda addressed them.

"Of course, see that's what we do in an assault. We couldn't get his statement before, what with all the goings on, but now we're told he's awake and lucid." He rubbed his nose between his thumb and forefinger, glanced away, then back, big cocky smile still in place. "Seems to me an esteemed Detective such as yourself, Yu Kanda of the 107 precinct, New York, would have more important things to do than check up on a minor assault you didn't find important enough to stick around for yesterday."

"He's a friend. I'm just visiting." He didn't blink those cold flat eyes. "Any reason you decided to check on my past employment, Officer?"

"A friend huh?" He tucked his hands under his armpits. "Yeah, I believe that. See, I'm wondering why someone would transfer from a cushy job in homicide up in the big apple to play Sherlock holms here in our citrus city." He stepped up into Kanda's face. "See when an odd looking foreign kid is attacked, unprovoked, by some random homeless guy? Gets me thinking. Especially when we can't pull dick together on him and the officer on scene goes off the grid for hours afterword."

"My teammate went down yesterday, I told you." Kanda's hard eyes turned sharp and lethal. "Contact my superior if you want, I honestly don't know why you couldn't put together any information on him. Seems to me that's a personal incompetency."

"Oh?" His face twitched. "You think so?"

"Hadit." Mont stepped up to the two of them. "Detective, is he awake?"

Kanda blinked his emotionless stare and turned his attention to the partner, dismissing LaForteza as a non-threat. From the narrowing of the younger officer's eyes this did not sit well with him. "The nurse came out ten minutes ago, said he was taking a shower."

"And you just decided to step out and, what, give him privacy?" LaForteza asked.

"He hasn't seen me yet, he was…sleeping when I arrived." Kanda stepped aside just a fraction, a lean and shift, and before they could go in knocked firmly on the door. More to take control then alert the Moyashi of their arrival. They may have the assault, but the kid was his. He made sure he was the first in the door.

Allen was sitting up in his bed when they entered, his eyes registered confusion, not displeased but certainly surprised. His hair was swept back, still damp from the shower, giving an unobstructed view of his face. There was strain in the corners of those shadowed eyes and the line of his mouth, but every bruise and blemish, the scar, was expertly brushed away beneath cosmetics. He was dressed in a needlessly formal long sleeved blouse pressed to knife sharp seams with red cord tying the collar closed in a perfect knot. He must be wearing a prosthetic, as his arms were both of average length. In his hands were a deck of cards; dealt out onto the tray was apparently a very interesting invisible poker game. "Enjoy your nap?" He sneered automatically, standing straight as a soldier in the doorway barring the others from entering.

"Kanda! How nice, did you come to see how I was? That's very kind of you." He said, while in his mind he was running through possibilities like mad. He was, according to the note Cross left in his bag, listed under a fake name. No one should know he was here, he was brought in by two officers after being attacked in the park, who attacked him and why was still being discovered. Why was Kanda here? How did the Order find him? He gathered the cards, shuffled, and began to deal for three onto the meal tray.

Kanda noted the faint musky smell, like an animal, and felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. It didn't smell too much like hospital in here. "When I brought you in yesterday I figured it was serious, and here you are lounging around playing cards." He sidled in, registering the not quite smothered surprise of the other. "Guess I could have just left you and you'd been fine. I'll remember that next time you faint from terror."

"I didn't faint." Allen couldn't help but snap. "I got a concussion and passed out." He didn't even register the two others in the doorway.

"Yeah right. Next time one of your ex-boyfriends tries to off you, do me a favor and die somewhere I'm not obligated to rescue your sorry ass." He smirked at the pursed lipped albino. "Or at least let me buy my shit first, I'm out of tea."

"How terrible." He felt the anger snap through him, like a rubber band winged from a mischievous schoolboy's idle fingers. He caught it, wrestled and smothered it until it lay still just beneath his skin, and smiled pleasantly. A man who couldn't control his temper had no control over the situation, or his life. "I'll make sure to not be such a hassle should I ever again be viscously attacked so as not to inconvenience you." He lost his concentration on the game and couldn't remember which hand had what, nearly swore, and snatched up the cards to shuffle again.

"Mr. Walker?" LaForteza was tired of lurking in the entrance and strode forward before Kanda could retort, the albino's head turned to him quick as a finger snap, eyes wide and startled. "I'm Officer LaForteza, My Partner Officer Mont, we're here to ask you a few questions about the assault yesterday."

Officer Mont was a gigantic man, he had to duck when he entered the doorway, with skin black as charred tree bark after a ravaging fire. His eyes and firmed mouth suggested he himself may have witnessed just what damage that blaze had done.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Officers." Allen offered his hand, watched the paper-white skin be swallowed in the man's dark grip. For all the bigness and strength of it, the Officer held it gentle as a china doll. He was used to large men, Marie and his cousin Skin Bolic were both mountains, and both treated him as if he would shatter to billions under the slightest pressure like a blown glass figurine.

In this case, he felt it.

LaForteza was a different type, his shake was firm and quick, Allen had to stretch his fingers afterword. The gentleman Mana's death had created urged him to smile in polite greeting as the uniformed officer eased a hip onto the bed.

He was attractive in an average way, brown and brown Hispanic, the black uniform and utility belt adding a bulk to his athletic form. His smile was friendly, but just a little too familiar, too sure of his charm and welcome. Allen imagined he worked well with kids, but pissed anyone over the age of ten way the hell off.

"So can you remember anything from yesterday, about what happened?"

Kanda touched the pads of his fingers to his shoulder, a reserved comforting gesture, one so unnatural to the image the Asian man presented that Allen gave a long blink before he could acknowledge it. "I.. I don't remember… no. I'm very sorry."

"Well, that's okay, you can just tell us what you do. The last thing you can recall?"

"The last thing? Well, I don't know." He tucked a tuft of drying hair that had fallen down into his vision behind his ear "It's hard, you know. Remembering the last thing you remember? Have you ever actually tried that?"

"Honestly? I've never had memory loss, but just try anything you can."

"Perhaps," Officer Mont spoke in his pleasant rumble, "you can start with the beginning of your day, and go forward?"

"Well, yesterday is.. well I don't know. It's like going to sleep and waking up and someone says you slept through the day. It's just not there, and it's hard to really adjust to the fact that a whole day just…doesn't exist to me. I remember that I was supposed to go to the Doctor's office Sunday. I think, well I'm not sure but I think I remember getting up. I work at nights, so I sleep during the morning. But the doctor says I could be projecting, because I have a pretty usual morning routine."

"Well could you try running through your morning routine? Maybe it'll help."

"I've been doing it so much this morning I hardly have to try. I go to sleep at dawn, every morning. So when I wake just depends on when dawn comes, I usually sleep for five to six hours, I take glucose supplements so I don't have sugar attacks at night, but I keep a special vitamin water by my bed with corn starch and other things in case I do have an incident." He twisted his fingers in his lap, he didn't want to mention the nightmares he so rarely remembered, didn't want to mention Neah who was so silent in his mind. "I, after I wake I drink the water to curb any attack and take a bath, because of my psoriasis I have to take very special care of my skin. Because of my heart condition there are a lot of treatments I can't take, and my sun sensitivity adds another complication. Then I make breakfast, talk with my agent who lives with me, and begin work. I know it seems odd, but I rarely leave my apartment."

"What type of work do you do?"

"That's irrelevant." Kanda snapped.

He saw the steel glance the young officer sent over his shoulder and felt Kanda's presence, like a guard, at his side. "I'll be the judge of what's relevant and not."

"You have the guy, why not just ask him why he did it?"

"How I conduct my investigation is none of your concern, Detective." His glare edged into a smirk. "Perhaps you should wait outside."

"Like hell I'm-"

"Kanda." Allen sighed the name, felt the man stiffen, saw LaForteza's mouth twitch in triumph as he snapped his mouth shut and scowled. So that was what it was... Well he couldn't say he didn't appreciate the territorial possessiveness, he lifted his hand, just to fuck with them, and placed it over the one barely grazing his arm. Felt the fingers twitch at the contact, and press down more firmly. He suddenly realized he still smelled of his shower and wondered if Kanda noticed. "Officer, I'd appreciate it if my friend could stay."

Mont answered before his partner could make an ass of himself. "Of course."

Allen beamed in gratitude and took a breath. "I remember going to sleep at dawn yesterday, after doing some work, and waking up here. That's all."

"Do you recognize this man?" Mont took out a picture and Allen was staring into the dark face of an Indian. Kanda saw they had taken the cap off for the mug shot and noted the peculiar tattoo across his forehead, like eyes.

Allen genuinely did not recognize this man. "No, I'm sorry. I don't know him."

"Never seen him around? At the park, or maybe near your house or workplace?"

"No, I work mostly from home. To answer your earlier question I'm a composer, I write songs and musical scores for people. Mostly catchy jingles for commercials, though I do get jobs for background soundtracks in television and movies sometimes. I'm not exactly famous, but I make enough to live comfortably."

"Could he maybe have been a fan, or a colleague? Someone who maybe had a grudge against you?"

"That would be hard, as I work under a pen name. My uncle's name actually, Neah Walker, very few people have ever actually met me."

"I see, have you received any threats? Anyone who was maybe hassling you about anything?"

"Officer, this is music. It's nothing but passion and egos, I'd be surprised if someone didn't threaten to string me up with piano wire. My agent alone threatens me every Thursday." He laughed softly with a shake of his head. "No, even if any of them were serious threats, I'm too far down the totem to bother with, and too well hidden to find. My Uncle, you see, has been dead for thirty years. I'm just one of many ghost writers."

"I see, still, I'll need names of the people who you work with."

"Officer, is it really necessary? It seems to me to be a random act. Many homeless are mentally disturbed with nowhere else to go and my…well I tend to provoke certain reactions in people."

"This man is a British citizen." LaForteza tapped the picture, caught the look in those silver eyes. "Several days ago he suddenly had a greencard, despite no paperwork being filled out, and boarded a plane and came here. Two days after he landed he attacks you, from the description he did it with full intent to cause serious harm."

"Sometimes," Mont spoke up, "people hide their intentions. Sometimes what we consider insignificant is, to another, a very serious matter. You can never really know what another person's intent is." He gave the young man a sad smile. "I'm sorry, but there's a chance that someone, someone you know, may be trying to kill you."

"I see." Allen glanced at Kanda when the grip on his shoulder tightened. His face was impassive, but his eyes were hard and dangerous. How odd, was all he could think, and he wished he remembered yesterday so he could understand if this change was as sudden as it felt, or if something happened between them. The last he remembered of the man was at Jerry's restaurant, scowling and walking away. "Yes I'll…I'll write what I can down. My Agent will know more."

"Thankyou." LaForteza said, and when Allen had scribbled everything he could down on the pad of papers passed to him he took it and tucked it into his pocket, pulled out a card. "If you remember anything, anything at all. Call me."

"Yes Officer, I will." And they were gone, and Allen was alone with Kanda.

"Asshole." Kanda spat, throwing himself down in a plastic chair.

"Why do you say that?" He tucked the card into his toiletry case and picked Tim up from his lap, cradled him close. "They both seemed nice."

"How do you survive with such crap judge of character?" he scoffed. "The bastard is nothing but an arrogant bruiser, throwing his weight around." He looked at Allen. "So, tell me what you know."

"About what exactly?"

"About the freak that almost smeared your tiny brain all over the concrete."

Allen made tunnels with his hands and let Tim run through them, "I honestly don't know anything. I wasn't holding back, or lying to them. I don't remember anything at all from yesterday, and I don't recognize that man."

"And you have no idea why anyone would want to hurt you?"

"I…" His eyes flickered, broke contact to watch the pale furry animal weave between his hands in a dance. "No, honestly I don't."

A secret, he'd dig it up, but for now Kanda categorized it in his mental notes and let the subject drop. The silence lengthened, he rested his chin on his fist and watched as the rodent sized creature scampered up the stark white sleeve to crouch at the shoulder, shift its haunches, and launch itself at the curtains, arms and legs extended to reveal a connecting web of fur and skin, long tail out. It looked like a tiny, fuzzy kite.

Allen laughed when it latched onto the curtain and scuttled to the very top to perch in the folds and bark. "Yes, I saw you. Very impressive." Then once again began to gather all his cards to shuffle. "So, is there a reason you're still here? You don't look particularly happy to be." Kanda's response was to tsk and scowl. "Well, might I ask what you meant earlier? When you said you brought me in?"

"What, not clear enough for your little brain?"

"Oh don't be an ass. I don't have any memory of yesterday at all and I was told those two cops brought me in."

"As if! You would have died from brain damage in the van while that idiot tried to get that damn woman's number." On certain men, Allen realized, a sneer was not at all unattractive. "Your weak ass was attacked, I brought you here. Clear now?"

Allen's soft smile slanted, "Tell me, do you have to work particularly hard at being a bastard or does it just come naturally?" Kanda shrugged. "I see. Well thank you for that lengthy recounting of events." He bat his lashes. "It's all ever so clear now."

"Fuck you."

"Well if you want, but do lock the door first."

Something hit him on the head, and he looked startled at the man sitting scowling at the door as Tim clung to his shirt where he fell. "Did, did you just throw Timcanpy at me?"

"che." Quick as a viper he had a fist of Kanda's hair, tugging him close. "Chikusho! Let go of me you fucking bastard, I will fucking stab you in the fucking face."

"You don't throw my pet." He snarled eyes slits of fury. "I don't care what the fuck youtube videos say you can do with gliders, you don't throw my fucking pet."

"Kutabare Ama," he grabbed Allen by the wrists and twisted, but instead of freedom he got harsher pulling for his efforts. "Mukatsuku, koro shite yaru!"

"Sonna koto shitta koto ja nai. You. Don't. Throw. My. Pet."

"Alright! FUCK!" when he was released he attempted to throw a punch but his fist was caught with the stupid prosthetic hand.

"Ah ah, be a good boy and sit the fuck down." Allen smiled sweet as syrup.

"Baka na gaijin."

"As you so eloquently put it two weeks ago, you're a foreigner too. So, really, who does that apply to?"

"Ookiosewada." He sneered.

Allen chose to not respond to that, and instead continued his shuffling.

The cards slid through fingers like liquid, Kanda would have been a little impressed with the grace the pale man could maneuver and arrange them, if he wasn't seething, mumbling things like 'Shinezu buso kuso' and 'Busaiku pakimono." Which Allen heard and understood, but refused to answer.

Kanda began to breath, tugging at his skewed hair, a huge fucking mess, not even bothering to swallow or mutter the various things he felt at various points to say, openly just spitting them out. "Hine daikon, Tameguchi kitten ja ney o. Do digata ni kazana ho akeruzou, ki-sama o koroso."

"Are you finished yet? You're fogging up the room with all your intense hatred."

"Shinde Kudesai."

"Have you become completely incapable of switching languages, or do you honestly think I can't understand everything you're saying, because I'll let you know. I speak it perfectly well," he shrugged, "most dialects."

"Fuck you." Kanda snarled. "I remember you speaking it perfectly fine yesterday."

"Oh?" Allen blinked at him. "So…well okay. Why were we speaking Japanese yesterday?"

"The fuck were we speaking it now for?"

"So we were…" he laughed suddenly. "Is this going to be a pattern with us, arguing like this?"

"Who the fuck cares?" he finally just tugged the damn hairband out and started finger combing his tangled hair.

"What brilliant wordplay you have, you must charm all the ladies."

"As if."

Once again the silence stretched on and okay, so this wasn't exactly going the way he, half assed, planned. He had allowed that idiot of a cop to put his back up, and fuck but he hated hospitals, and then the henjin had to go and pull his hair. Fucking kuso atama. So, step back, breathe, put it all away and do the job. Even if he wanted to storm out and never come back. Fucking bitchy little ass-white bastard freak.

Breath. Do the job.

"You got quick hands." He finally managed after several minutes and when he didn't think he'd get a strange look, it seemed like the act of shuffling smoothed the Moyashi's feathers. It was the only observation he could think of that didn't want to come out as an irritated snap. He resisted adding 'ama' to the end, but it still echoed in his head.

"It helps me think." Allen said, dealing out a quick five card stud for his imaginary players. "Would you like to play?" He then added.

Kanda leaned over the side of the bed to reach the table, his hair sliding across one shoulder. "I'm not much for games." He tipped one of the facedown cards up with his thumb and spied the value. "I know bridge, but I didn't come here to embarrass myself over a handful of cards."

"Right, just came to insult me and milk your hero status? If you're expecting a thank-you you probably should have waited for it before you pissed me off."

"I came here to," he stopped, breathed, and swallowed his insult. Sat back. "I came to check up on you."

"Right. Did Lenalee make you?"

"No." Allen stopped the game and stared at him with a soft expectant smile. He met it for a few minutes, then turned towards the door with a huff of irritation, '_just spit it out. It won't choke you.' _ "Fuck, I brought you here didn't I? I came to see if you survived the night." He could not believe he just said that. Fucking shit what the hell was this, some cheesy romance novel? He sucked in a slow breath through his nose, do the job. Just do the job. If he had to say corny shit like that to stick close to the asshole fine, suck it up, do it, and kill all witnesses.

"Really?" Allen's smile shrank to a neutral line as he studied Kanda's profile, the man refusing to meet his eyes. He felt a pleased little prickling in his gut and a corner of his mouth twitched, wanting to turn up. Brushing it all aside he curved his lips in a grateful crescent, "Thank you," he slathered honey over the appreciation. Kanda turned back to him, eyes narrowed, mouth scowling. Allen tucked his hair behind his ear and swept his eyes back down to his game in a practiced subtly submissive gesture that gave his face a feminine angle and continued his game.

"Show it to me."

Allen blinked back up at him. "What?"

His companion held out a hand. "You're arm. Let me see it."

Allen instinctively clutched at the forearm of his prosthetic, keeping it close. "Why would you want to… I mean, I have no injuries on my arms."

Kanda gave him an annoyed look. "I saw the damn thing yesterday Moyashi, so shut up and hand it over."

"Mo- who's a bea-"

"Beansprout, yes. You said that yesterday too." He took the prosthetic in his hands and guided it away from the albino's torso until it was outstretched towards him, undoing the buttons at the bottom and pushing it up, exposing purple colored 'skin'. "It moves differently from yesterday." He pulled the glove off.

"D-does it?" Suddenly this close Allen had no choice but to acknowledge the attraction that was both thrilling, dangerous and, he told himself, perfectly natural. He wouldn't go so far as to say it was harmless, not with the ties to the Order and the past twenty minutes of arguing, but so long as the electric tension between them stayed a humming undercurrent he saw no reason to push the man away. "I.. usually wear a different one to the doctor's office, easier to remove if I have the need."

The other one was hard plastic with a rubber skin colored sleeve, mechanical workings visible at the joints. This one's cosmetic covering was of pliable latex, like warm skin beneath his fingers. Kanda turned the hand over, palm up. Traced the ridges that allowed for free movement. It was the same purple of the Tribal tattoos he had seen covering the infant-like arm last night, he imagined the coloring helps preserve the natural appearance? The sleeve only rolled to the elbow.

The length of his family's advancement in the fields of science and mechanics were proved upon his skin, as Allen could feel through the connections every brush of fingertips across his palm. He turned his face away and breathed for a moment, feeling slightly dizzy, his palm seemed to vibrate under the skim of those fingers. When he glanced back it was to be pierced by slanted blue eyes so deep they were almost black.

Kanda had seen him turn away out of his peripheral, and had glanced up in time for him to look back. Glass clear eyes gazed down at him with a strange emotion, and he felt something, a force in his gut not quite powerful enough for a punch, but stronger than a tug. He stroked a thumb across the palm of the prosthetic, the change in the grey eyes was subtle, darkened, intensified in the moment; pupil expanding in one, up close it gave him a slightly cross-eyed appearance. _'The scar would have distracted from it,'_ he thought as he held the silver stare,_ if was visible.'  
><em>  
>He had a sudden vision, an image in his mind so clear he mistook it a moment for one of his illusions. An image of them fighting, sparing, blocking, counteracting, knock out drag out no holds barred, throwing each-other off balance and when one of them pinned the other... his breath hitched. He released the hand and sat back, ramrod spined, in his chair. It was a sexy, perilous thought that aroused more than his competitive interest, and he squashed it under the heel of his control like the disgusting parasite it was.<p>

"Seeing as you don't look to be dying anytime soon." he said as those distracting eyes blinked, "I'll just go do some of that pesky crime fighting everyone is always yelling at me about." He stood, felt his hair brush his neck and arms and swore. Digging his hair tie back out of his pocket, but as he gathered it all up and wound it around the tail, it snapped.

His swears were fierce, hot, and Asian.

Allen could do nothing but laugh.

When he could finally settle and breathe, under the dark smoldering glare of one pissed of Japanese detective, he tugged at the knot of his necktie. "You know Kanda," he ran the cord through his fingers, smoothing any winds or folds, "there are only certain lengths anything can go before it snaps under the pressure."

"Yeah yeah, save your cultured British opinions for someone who'll actually listen." He turned to leave; Allen caught his wrist, pointed his index finger down and circled it. Kanda rolled his eyes and scoffed, but conceded and sat on the bed.

With a laugh Allen bit the ribbon and gathered all that dark hair in his hands.

It was an odd situation, his heart thundered in his ears and every sense was on high alert as if he was in the midst of a great battle. He breathed slow and deep through his nose, curled damp hands against his thighs, and refused to acknowledge the raised hairs on his arm or the adrenaline in his blood.

Allen was a warm, steady presence at his back as he tied the ribbon, hands brushing through his hair, skimming the top of his head, and every pulse point in his body throbbed. A sudden switch in the workings of his mind left him baffled and slightly off balance, he imagined what it would be like to have those deft, clever fingers somewhere other than his hair. If he turned, if he just angled his head up and they were face to face...

Allen finished and with hands settling heavy on his broad shoulders was leaning over him, up on his knees, a sassy grin on his lips as if he knew exactly what the Asian man had been thinking.

Kanda took a calming breath and all but tasted whatever it was Allen used on his slim pale body to get him to smell like a wholesome breakfast.

Allen hadn't expected to see the spark of sexuality in those dark, seemingly emotionless eyes, but was pleased by it, even if he had enough makeup on his face to crack if he smiled too wide.

"You know Kanda, I've been thinking about doing something for near two weeks now." he smiled wider at the guarded uneasiness in those slanted blue eyes. "Might as well get it out of my system." and faster, shockingly faster than Kanda could counteract Allen coiled the dark hair in his hand like a rope, yanked his head back, and kissed him.

Kanda's lips opened in shocked protest, his mind went blank, his mouth filled with tongue and taste and passion and for a breathless dizzying moment fire erupted inside him and swept through his blood like lava.

"Oh, I'm interrupting." a voice deadpanned from the doorway.

Allen broke away and looked up, irritation all over his face, at his former guardian and mentor Cross Marian. "What perfect timing, do you just **smell** pheromones like beasts?"

Kanda embarrassed himself by staggering away, all but running out the door and down to his car. The sticky heat of the outside slapped him like a damp rag and he had to take a gulp of air to find his breath. So used to the chill of the hospital. Only when he was unlocking the door with shaky, boneless hands did the clarity of what happened slam into him, and with it a black fury that rioted through his system.

_**IVB**_

"That didn't take you long at all," Cross watched the man bolt with an amused brow raised, "that BookMan apprentice made him sound a bit more challenging."

Allen thought so too, having expected anger, rejection, or simply no response at all. Instead he got to see a very interesting reaction to a very simple pleasure. He cradled his chin in his palm in contemplation at the empty doorway. "Please, if he wasn't being forced here by the Order he'd have left several times over and never come back." Was there anything so endearing as watching a strong man fumble?

"Heh, I don't know about that." Allen blinked from his musings and looked up at Cross, holding a small tablet computer the size of a thin chindren's book. "Fii left you a little security camera when he came in last night." He reclined in the seat Kanda had occupied moments ago. "I switched the memory card when I stopped by earlier, you might want to see something."

Allen took the computer and settled back onto the bed.

Outside the room a tall handsome man with dark hair curling past his shoulders flirted with the nurses at the console station and watched his brutishly large relative storm after a fleeing Asian.

_**IVB**_

Kanda glowered over the opened hood of his beat up little car, eyes dark as onyx and temperament positively rancid.

As if being assaulted by a deformed albino hospital patient wasn't absolutely horrible enough, and it was, it so was, his car had decided it couldn't take the embarrassment of being driven by someone who had been unable to deflect a sad sloppy inexperienced and all around nauseating excuse of a kiss from a deformed albino hospital patient suffering brain trauma which was the** ONLY**reason he hadn't kicked that fuckers brain in, and killed itself. In the middle of interstate four.

Fucking perfect.

He stared angrily, not uselessly and certainly not helplessly, into the complex entanglement of grime covered wires and tubes and tank looking apparatuses he was sure did something important. He recognized the battery, it was all he recognized, as it was the rectangular thing he paid someone to change for him after having angrily stared at a wall of multiple different sizes and brands and voltages, again not useless or helplessly, or stupid which is what he always felt around the contents that made vehicles run, before grabbing the nearest wage earner by the collar.

It did not help that he was still stewing, how could he not be when his person had been unforgivably violated by such a disgusting creature, over the confusing actions of Allen Walker.

He liked knowing what he was up against, be it a kendo opponent, suspect, diabolical matrix monster looking mesh of machinery hidden beneath his hood, or polished looking assholes with intimacy issues. So far Allen had been as much an entangled mystery as the workings of his car. Who was he? The quick tongued, god why did that thought make his insides jolt, hellfire with the hard mouth and sharp eyes, the delicate refined doll who had pinked tea-rose at Lavi and Daisya's teasing, or the vulnerable child with the terrified eyes that haunted him through the night in a way the gruesome image his colleague's body hadn't?

He moistened his lips and scowled when he discovered a foreign taste there.

And so what if he had, for a brief moment, considered the softness of lips, it didn't give anyone the right to just kiss him. He considered murdering all kinds if people on a daily basis, he didn't expect anybody to go around killing them for him. It just meant he was human, he had thoughts like everyone else, he simply controlled them, not going around throwing themselves at the nearest uninterested person, especially ones they barely knew and ...

He braced his hands on the car and breathed.

Even he could tell this was affecting him a little too much.

And if it was, well it was just human nature, it was... Chemistry... It wasn't going to go anywhere.

It couldn't.

Because if he let it, it could ruin everything. Every file and note he had scraped up last night indicated Allen Walker discarded his lovers, and he was not going to be discarded, by anyone, especially not a mark.

And he was not thinking about sex with that scrawny little...

Breath in, hold, breath out.

The ache in his belly was not desire, not hunger, but stress, he was probably getting an ulcer, he had a pretty stressful few days.

Hell, he had a pretty stressful life.

_**IVB**_

Skin Bolic watched from the overpass as the angry Black Order soldier yelled on his phone at who he assumed was a tow truck or roadside service of some kind. He recognized the man from the security video, standing over Allen's bed, taking pictures of him, touching him.

He shifted his _piña__colada sucker from one side of his mouth to the other, blue eyes darkening with intent. _

_It had been a while since he had an Order member's blood on his hands, hot and wet and sticky. Tyki and the twins seemed to have all the fun these days, last night's little spy incident attesting to that, and seeing one so solitary and alone like this called to his instincts, his memory, his rage. He hadn't liked the way the man had stormed out of his little cousin's hospital room, or the raging oaths promised out in the parking lot, and had decided to follow him, just to be sure he wasn't planning anything funny. After all, what was an Order member doing in the room anyway, Allen was in under a fake name, and from what their intel described the Order had no idea where he was, and were going nuts because of it._

He had never agreed with the Earl's decision to place him out as bait on a hook. He and Road and Cyril had argued and protested, but in the end you do not question the Earl.

One does not presume to question.

The knowledge that their sweet little fourteenth was always in the crosshairs of the Order stuck in his craw like black licorice jellybeans, tainting everything with its bitterness.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to get rid of a body either, unlike Tyki who left them where they lay, or JasDevi who dumped them wherever they could get away with it, or Cyril who liked to stage them in interesting storytelling ways, he knew how to make a person vanish. People disappeared in the Bayou all the time, the marsh and the mist, poisonous snakes, alligators cutting a line through the waters with whispers for ripples, Florida wasn't all that different from the waters he called home.

_**IVB**_

"Don't toke in here, it's a bloody hospital for Christ's sake."

"So, open a window."

"I hate you so much." Allen grumbled, but it was halfhearted, fingers curled around the tablet.

Tyki slapped a hand on Cross' shoulder and pushed him towards the window. "We'll just sit over here," He cracked it open and reclined back against it, taking a drag as he watched his little cousin. Allen Walker wasn't the kind to let his emotions show, he had a nasty little habit of slathering on that creamy little smile to cover whatever he was feeling at any given moment. Not to say reactions couldn't be drawn out of him, one merely had to work a little at it.

So seeing him staring down at the thin pocket computer with a sweet little curve of the lips should have indicated he was hiding something, until he ran a finger down the dark line the Order member cut against the glow of the machines, standing over him, leaning down to him. He reached up to place the pads of fingers against the hidden scar marring his cheek, slowly, almost dreamily, as he watched the Asian man do the same. 'whoops.' Tyki thought to himself, 'I hope that's not what I think it is.'

"What's you're take on him Gorato?" He asked and Allen blinked dreamy eyes up at him.

With a sigh that was a little tired, a little regretful, and just a fraction schoolgirl-crush he set the tablet aside. "Proud, defiant, aloof, and absolutely delicious but most things are when you can't have them."

"Why not?."

Allen barked out an uncharacteristic laugh, one that reminded Cross of an unsympathetic, unapologetic child with hard eyes and bruises on his dirt smudged face. "Oh yes, let's complicate matters with useless entanglements."

Tyki felt a muscle tick. Allen Walker rarely made life easy for anyone, polite refinement or no. "Nasty word, entanglement." he blew smoke out the window. "Best to have someone loyal to you. Suman was a good pick, but his wants are with his family. Best to get him by the dick and keep his everything focused on you."

"And you think Kanda is the best choice?" Allen gave him an amused incredulous look.

"He came to the hospital." Tyki indicated with his cigarette, the wispy tail of smoke danced like a bespelled snake. "Didn't have to, could have dropped you off and been done with it. But he came, and watched you sleep." he took a drag. "Man like that, he doesn't watch his enemies sleep unless he plans to smother them."

Allen pictured Kanda in his hospital room, surly, bad tempered, go-to-hell Kanda with his dark, angry eyes, standing beside his bed, fingers tracing the hideous scar. Just like in the video.

"You like him."

"He's pleasing enough. I'd have to decide if it's worth it to keep him close, or make use of him and be done with it,"

"Distracting?"

He said "Very" with that same wistful sigh.

"You can't work together without thinking of fucking him," Cross laughed, almost mocking, "but if you fuck him, you can't work."

"Oh but I so want to." Allen flopped onto the hospital bed, ignoring the doctor's order for his head. He felt fine. "Did you see him Tyki? Isn't he gorgeous?"

The Portuguese man shrugged, taking a drag from his cig, whatever they were giving the guy was making him uncharacteristically loose lipped, and just a tad silly. "More you're type then mine,"

Allen snorted a laugh that amused the two others. "Nowhere near my type and you know it, too gawky, and rude, and proud, stupid though, not brainless but so not the sharpest needle in the haystack. And he didn't even kiss me back." He pouted.

"You did kind of forced it on him." Cross grinned at Allen's stare. "I was in the doorway awhile."

"Excuses." He grumbled, and turned his gaze to the ceiling, hand roaming the bed for the soft touch of fur, he liked holding Tim when he thought. "I didn't even get to see how good a kisser he really is, I mean yeah it was fun to catch him like that but nobody wants a," He sat up when he didn't find him. "You see Tim anywhere?"

Tyki swept the room with his eyes. "It is day out. Did he go to sleep?"

"Maybe. I don't like him climbing into places in strange rooms though." He lifted his pillow and shook out his blanket. "Hey, check the curtains for me?"

The two men exchanged a look; Allen was skilled at dodging questions, but changing the subject so swiftly, or forgetting conversations…

"He's fine, he'll come out." Cross crushed his tab against the windowsill, heading back to the seat directly beside the albino, taking the clipboard off the wall as he passed. "What are they giving you exactly?"

"I don't know. They don't tell me." He huffed and threw his pillow back on the bed, flopping down on it when he couldn't find his suggie. He hated being awake in the morning. Tim was always asleep in the mornings, and the day stretched on so long, the sun wouldn't be going back down for another thirteen hours. Thirteen. What was he supposed to do drugged up in a hospital for thirteen hours?

"Looks like painkillers and sedatives. They give you any antidepressants yet?"

"God I hope not. I'm already on like, fifteen."

"You're on two; I'll make sure they know. I brought your prescription with me."

"My hero." He mumbled, face in the pillow, he sat up quickly and smiled at Tyki. "Play a game with me?" he held up the card deck.

"That's my que." He said, crushing his cigarette and moving towards the door followed by Allen's 'aww, no fun.'

"Coward." Cross hissed at him.

"You play with him down to your ceroulas and see how often you want to face him in a game." He patted the redhead's back. "I'll just go down to the cafeteria, Gorato, get you something to eat."

"The doctor says I can't eat anything after a seizure."

"It's been long enough, I'm sure you're clear for a meal."

"Okay, thanks. Can you get me a cake?"

He laughed. "Sim, com certeza I'll get you a big cake." And made his escape.

_**IVB**_

Kanda wrenched open the door to his car and threw his jacket inside. Fuck this, fuck them, fuck everyone, he was hot, he was running on no sleep, and every damn 'professional' he called to work on his car hadn't even heard of Daihatsu motors, let alone knew how to fix an `05 Copen.

He finally tracked down a foreign car auto shop that knew a damn thing about Japanese motors outside of crotch rockets and the damn asshole was so fucking chatty he damn near hung up on him with the suicidal thought that he'd fix it himself. He didn't even have a fucking tire jack he was so inept with cars, so he persevered and confirmed his location so the guy could come tow his ass out of the heat.

With a swipe of the back of his hand across his forehead, fuck bangs, he was letting his hair grow out and damn if it got in his eyes if he was living in Florida even two more weeks he was getting rid of these fucking bangs. He grabbed Daisya's stupid red ballcap with the crescent stars logo, the idiot had left in his car last week, and didn't feel a damn thing when he slapped it on his head and pulled his hair through the back.

Several tow trucks came and went, and he felt himself grow edgier and edgier with every one that didn't stop. A few would piss him off with false relief when they pulled up beside to ask if he needed a tow, no he had one, no they were coming, yes he knew it, no he didn't need their help. Fuck off. Fuck you. Fuck your truck. Go away before I shove that big fucking hook up your ass and tow you by your rectum with your own damn truck.

Then the stupid fucker finally came and he didn't know if he was going to hug him or throttle him to hell and back. He needed some god damned sleep.

"You Kanda?" When one described someone as 'scarecrow' Kanda imagined this would be their intended image. He was tall, his limbs long brittle branches attached to the husk of a sapling tree, his wrinkles layering over themselves in pleats and folds were brown and weathered as tanned leather. He tipped an ancient straw cap up and peered at him through sharp clear green eyes with a center of gold circling the pupil, cat's eyes.

"Just Kanda." He gripped the withered age spotted hand offered to him and was surprised with the strength of the handshake.

"Ain't that what I said?" He turned to look at the little car and scowled. "You d` this?"

He tucked his hands in his pockets, defensive. "It broke down."

"Corse it did. Look at it. Thing's lucky t` have limped on th`way it did. How long you had it?"

He had gotten it new as a teenager, a shiny black jewel gifted to him by the Order for being such a good little murdering bastard. He'd put the first dent in it that day and fucked the wheel alignment by misjudging a turn and jumping a curb. "Little over five years."

"An you beat it t`shit. Good for you."

Kanda felt his hackles rise and immediately liked this man more than the idiot he spoke with on the phone. "Just tow it to the fucking shop."

"Watch your mouth wit me boy, I still know how t`take down a Jap when I need to." He hooked the chain to the car and did his job. "Lucky you have me, nobody round here knows a damn thing about kei cars `specially Daihatsu's, don't exist to them `cept the shit Toyota brings over sometimes, an those ain't kei."

"Figured that out."

"Sure y'did." He hitched his belt and Kanda was sure he was going to spit any second, he was the kind of American that chewed tobacco and spit, never did though, just rubbed his nose as he studied the car. "Want me t'do the body work too? Face like that needs a good body."

Kanda looked at his car's 'face'. The Copen was one of those cars with wide headlight eyes and a smiling grill. "Just get it running, I don't need any of the other shit." He opened the door and folded himself down into the seat.

"Suit yourself. We'll talk more at the shop." The old man slammed the door for him and headed up to his truck.

Yanking the cap off and tossing it back behind the seats he gripped the wheel and watched the wrinkled asshole climb up into the cab with the sureness of a veteran. Yeah, he liked the man, and hoped he wouldn't have to be dealing with anybody else.

This day was a total waste, but then so far all of them ended up that way when he interacted with Allen Walker. He didn't think he actually accomplished anything, except to be thoroughly disgusted and molested. Well, he could at least get some sleep until they got to the shop. He grabbed his jacket to use as a pillow, jerking his hand back when a sound much like the cranking his car had sputtered as it died emitted from the folds.

"The fuck?" he pulled it all the way into his lap and shook it, causing the cackling to get worse, finaly he found a lump and held the coat up so he could see.

The sound halted and a small round head poked out of one of his pockets, covered in golden blonde fur and topped with delicate pink almond shaped ears that perked in his direction. It blinked wide black eyes at him and sniffed with a heart shaped nose, before dismissing him with a chattering grumble and disappearing back into the dark abyss.

"Great. That's just perfect." He tossed the thing back into the passenger. Nothing he could do about the damn thing now with his car halfway in the grave. He'd return it to the Moyashi when it was fixed.

Adjusting the seat he leaned back and closed his eyes. Just a few minutes rest.

_**IVB**_

Skin shifted his candy in his mouth, clacking it against his teeth as he walked. In his hand he gripped the ankle of a worker in stained grey coveralls, the limp body dragging on the floor behind him, arms extended above the corpse's head. There was the barest smudge of a blood trail smearing the concrete as they went from the man's broken face. Skin liked using his fists; he especially liked using them in a way that killed people quickly. It was a bit of a problem for him, as the faster he killed them, the less he could use his fists. This irritated him, angered him, enraged him, and he ended up beating corpses long after they needed to be.

Which tended to be messy, and was probably why he hadn't been told to kill anyone recently. Which pissed him off all the more.

With not a single grunt of effort he hauled the body up and tossed it in the back of the truck with the others. Five in the bed, three more in the shop. Not a bad day, and he was fairly proud of himself with his swiftness. He would have taken more time, drawn it out, made it sweet, but he had a goal in mind and it wouldn't do to have bodies lying around or be worn out when the Black Soldier came into the shop.

He had seen the logo on the side of the truck when it arrived, and had made his way down before they had even finished introductions. He hadn't figured on having an awful lot of time, and hadn't wasted it.

Now as he grabbed two of the last and dumped them he heard the rattle and growl of the towtruck backing up into the shop.

Well, a dead counter girl would certainly supply as a distraction when they came in.

_**IVB**_

Kanda was jarred awake when his car hit the ground, lowered from the crane on the back of the old truck, hand slapping at his side where his gun fit snug into its holster. Only when its familiar grip was against his palm did his heart stop racing and his adrenaline begin the dive back to normal levels. He scanned his surroundings, deduced that he was inside the shop, and breathed. Okay, so he had a freaky dream. He was under a lot of stress in an unfamiliar nation and he hadn't gotten any sleep in the past thirty hours. He was allowed a freaky dream.

He raised his seat and almost reached for his jacket when he remembered what dwelled within it.

Then remembered how businesses tended to look down on gun toting angry guys and picked it up again. The little rat-monkey thing made that cranking noise again when he pulled it on and he thumped the pocket. "Shut up. And don't fucking come out, the Moyashi will probably blow a gasket if I lose you." He could still feel the sting of his hair getting pulled. Nobody pulled his hair. Not a damn person did that and lived.

"Talking t`yourself now boy?" The old man shut the truck door and walked around to unhitch his car. Kanda slamed his own door and scowled at him.

"Like a senile old fool is one to talk."

"I may be old, but I ain't senile, and I sure ain't no fool." He pat the hood of the tiny convertible and smiled. "You'll see. We'll get her shiny and new again." It turned into a crooked smirk. "That is, if you can afford it."

"Told you old man, all I want is it running." He dug his hands in his pockets, felt the brush of warm fur against his knuckles and yanked them out again.

"Well see that's our little issue. I have a thing for kei cars. People here, they don't know squat shit about economy, complain about gas prices but if you go electric well you're just a god hate'n hippie an`a communist. Things like this, they make a guy feel conscious `bout his dick here, and Americans care nothing more than `bout the size of their dicks. Always have, likely always will."

"And I care why?"

"B`cause you look like a man unconcerned about what fuckers think `bout your dick, and I like your car. So I'll give you a discount. You get it all done, body, guts, th`whole shebang, and I'll do it for flat line parts and labor,"

"Awfully sweet of you, but I just want it running."

He crossed those sun spotted twigs in front of his rail thin chest. "And there's th`kicker. You don't get th`whole shebang, I don't do th`fixing." He grinned just a little maliciously. "Good luck finding another who knows `bout Daihatsu, I'm sure th`shops lining OBT would be happy to try their hand at fucking it up."

"Fuck you, it's a car. It can't be that different. There's regulations and codes for a reason."

"Boy, you don't even got the steering wheel on th`right side."

"The fuck does that got to do with anything."

"Everything," he waved as he turned from the garage towards the door to the shop. "I'll just get th`boys while you're thinking it over." They both knew he already won.

Damnit, Kanda liked that car, he was used to that car. He didn't want to have to get another car, but he didn't see why he had to get all the fucking dents and body fuckups fixed. They were fine. He kicked the section of the fender that was held on with a bungee cable hooked under the hood. The exposed headlight sat in a caved in hole like a bruised eye, the glass covering it long since busted, the grill warped and dented and the front license plate holder was missing. Florida didn't require both license plates, so he hadn't bothered with replacing it.

Okay, so it looked like his car had walked away the looser of a very bad fist fight. He jammed his hands in his pockets again, swore when he once again hit the rat. Stupid fucking thing.

"Alright, wait up you fucker." The old man paused in the doorway, smug little grin and raised eyebrow. "I'll pay for the fucking she-whatever." He poked a finger in the boney chest. "But this bitch better shine."

"We'll add paint to th`bill." He opened the door. "Yo boys! Get your asses out here an-" He never finished, as hands vised around his neck and twisted.

The crack of a snapping spinal cord was a wet crunch in Kanda's ears, and he watched an enormous mountain of muscle haul the old man up by that shattered neck and toss him to the side like a broken doll. He crumpled against the wall in a jumble of clanking fragile bones, lifeless.

Kanda was already five paces away, gun drawn and directed at the behemoth ducking under the doorway. "Freeze. Hold it right there." He shouted, and the noise rang around the garage louder than a bullet. The man advance. "Police, stay where you are, put your hands in the air."

A voice southern as sweat iced tea teased out, "Do you like sweet things?" then the man laughed, picking up a tire.

"Put your hands in the air." Kanda repeated, when he was once again ignored, the large man advancing on him with a slow taunting stride, he fired. The shot punched into Skin with a hot, fierce pain, he chucked the tire and Kanda threw himself back behind a tool crate to dodge.

Contrary to what movies and television liked to show people, bullets weren't a one kill attack unless you got them in a sweet fatal spot, they still hurt, still did endless amounts of muscle damage, but Skin shook it off. His family could heal him new; rebuilding damaged muscle was hardly a difficult procedure. Besides, the pain sharpened his instincts, his mind, his rage. He raised a trunk of an arm and gripped the handle of the garage door with a meaty fist, tugging it down to slam closed. Trapping them in the dark.

"Let's have some fun." He laughed.

Kanda had slithered and weaved around the tool kit and car parts, settled himself behind a half destroyed Chevrolet with his back to the sandblasted door when the light when out. The heartbeat that thundered in his ears pumped adrenaline into his veins like a singing fuel, he was running on fumes and the spike in his bloodstream like the spark of arousal was a welcome kick.

"Where in the dark is our black soldier friend." The rumbling taunt sang through the gloom, Kanda would almost pinpoint its location. With a careful hand he tugged the spare cartridge of amo out of his boot and shoved it in the inside breast pocket of his coat where he could reach more easily. He wasn't absolutely positive what he had in his standard issue would take down a man who could shrug off a sucking wound to the chest.

He closed his eyes, let his dim surroundings go still, and breathed. He had been jumpy earlier, raw adrenaline on an empty system did that, but now he was calm and professional. Now he had a job to do. Black soldier he said. So he knew of the Order, knew he was a part of it. Akuma, or Noah?

He opened his eyes to an adjusted focus, in light and in battle. His hand no longer trembled on the gun, and his mind no longer clutched at a mesh of instinct and muscle memory. Now it was all training and survival and doing the job.

He crept along on his haunches to the edge of the car, peered around. At such a low angle he couldn't make out much, too many machines, parts, and containers in the way, but to stand up exposed him. Instead he tracked shadows, took notes on his surroundings. So many clustered and cluttered areas, nowhere really open. The big man would likely stick to the empty car slots, enough room for him to move around.

"Come out come out!" was the bellowed rage and a huge tool crate was flipped and crashing down on the hood of the car he hid behind, smashing the windshield into a spider web of glass. Kanda jolted, but didn't move. Still and silent. Okay, so maybe he'd just throw things.

More objects were tossed, smashing and thundering. He knew the location now and could end it fairly quickly. Maybe.

He ducked around the Chevy and rolled into the open, gun pointed and fired into the gray and black and shadow.

And was hit by a tire.

He skidded back, breath choked in his lungs, pain a flash of lightning in if face and chest and gut. He rolled, came up on liquid legs and tried to duck back into the tight spaces between cars and tools and parts but the blearing shadows in his throbbing eyes made him stumble and ram noisily against a crate. His opponent was on him in an instant and hauled him up, tossing him out into the open once more.

His gun was lost, but not the fight. He spat the blood pooling in his mouth and wiped it from his nose, focusing his glare at the man who stepped up before him.

"Now that introductions are over." He settled into a battle stance.

The man grinned and the image was grotesque and monstrous, not because he was a hideous man, but because the insanity and bloodlust that twisted his features made it that way. "You can call me Skin." The man was across to him in three strides and the real fight began.

Skin was bigger, much bigger than Kanda, and that counted in a fight, but so did swiftness and skill, and for a while it looked like it was in Kanda's favor, until a fist cracked into his cheek, nearly snapping his head off his shoulders with the force and ringing his ears with the sharp pierce of a siren. It left him dazed for just that instant needed to grip his collar and throw him once more to the ground.

"Morons, all of you." He dug a toe into the Order member's ribs and rolled him on his back. "You're so busy chasing Cross you don't even realize what's right in front of you, you could have us, but all the Order cares about is one little deserter." Noah then. Kanda blinked, felt the heaviness of a boot settle on his sternum, the man was so huge simply settling his full weight would be enough to crush his chest, the unfriendly grin vanished, and slashed in its place was an ugly scowl "Since you didn't get the last warning, I'll just have to leave your corpse for them next. Stay away from Carbon." He pulled his foot up to crush it down, and a shrill familiar crabbing sounded like an alarm. Timcanpy lunged down from somewhere in the shadows and clawed at Skin's face, who howled in rage and grabbed it, flinging it into the mess of machinery.

'_Noah.'_ It was all that echoed through Kanda's mind and with a face swollen with blood and rage he reared up, hand fisted, and jammed it in the exposed groin above him.

Skin's jaw gapped, face turning ashen and balance disrupted he toppled backwards. Kanda curled his legs to his chest, his hands up, palms to floor beside his head, and rolled body over head away, landing in a crouch to face his fallen enemy, who struggled to rise, shook his head, and threw up.

"Another body huh?" he snarled, getting the leverage of a running start he landed a kick into the ribs, forcing the man back down into his own vomit and feeling the give as ribs crunched beneath his boot. He wiped the heel of his hand against his cheek where pain still blossomed with every working of his jaw. It was likely cracked or broken, he hoped they wouldn't have to wire his jaw shut again. "I only know one Order member dying in this city, care to guess who he was?" There was a nice looking iron rod broken from when Skin had tossed things about. He picked it up, walked around the man to his head, out of reach of those long arms and big hands.

"Heh, a screamer from what I heard."

"Wrong answer." He swung the shaft and caught him upside the head, blood splatter dotted the oil stained concrete. 'We'll try a different question." He settled his weight on his heels, rolled his shoulders. "Who killed Daisya?"

"Ortho." Skin grinned up with blood stained teeth. "The weed killer." The metal rod slammed into him again, this time it lashed his knees three times and blood bloomed against the denim of his pants. The pain did nothing but fuel his rage.

"We can do this all day." Kanda's shoulder sang in agony, but he kept his stance casual and assured. "Not like I have anywhere to be, you killed my mechanic." He slammed the pipe down in his gut this time. "So, let's try again, Noah. Who killed my brother?"

"Ask the 14th." Skin wheezed.

"Who?" Kanda crouched down.

"White Carbon." And fueled by than name and his wrath he lunged up, grabbing the Asian man's neck in his big hands.

Kanda put the rod in his eye.

_**IVB**_

A shock sent Allen stumbling backwards, hand flying to clutch at his chest where a sharp pressurized pain flared to a brilliant agony. Cross managed to catch him before he collapsed, settle him on the bed, the monitor connected to him was going crazy, panicking in its chiming language. "What's wrong? Hey, brat what's. Fuck." He grabbed the emergency call button and shouted at Tyki, but the man was slumped in his chair, hands clutching his head. No help there.

"Wrath." Allen breathed, eyes watered from the pain. His hand flailed blindly, gripped Tyki's as the nurses rushed in.

"Si, Garato. Eu senti isso tambem." Their hands disconnected as the albino was surrounded, speaking too loudly, too layered, for the man to be heard. "O Titanio e morto."

_**IVB**_

This ended up taking way too long. Damn them and their sexual tension. Suman betrays the Order and people die next chapter, I couldn't fit it in this one. I couldn't fit a lot in this chapter. Pisses me off.

That fight scene is nowhere near as awesome as it should have been, but I'm, burnt out and a little irritable from taking two months to update when I wanted to keep this to a chapter a week. It just fought me all the way, so I half assed it in the last two scenes. I'm taking a break this weekend before starting on Boron, working a little on PO, maybe jotting down a sexy little Yullen oneshot for you guys, I have plenty of them lying around. Like a Piano is short enough I can do it in a few hours.

You people may have noticed my…dislike of subtitles and translations. I hate them, they take away from the experience I think. It works great in film or visual media, but in writing translations tend to be speed bumps, jolting people out of the story. So I've gotten a request, and am toying with the idea, of having a glossary chapter that will be updated after every knew chapter. A list of common words, as well as translations ordered by the chapter, for your convenience. Would you all like that?

On a final note Order training in Stibarsen is based, or rather heavily influenced, by the Russian Spetznaz. If you want an idea of the fucking bullshit Kanda was put through as a child to adult I suggest you read The Inside Story of the Soviet Special Forces by Viktor Suvorov, it's free online. Below is a tiny hint.

"_It's not water they are in - it's blood. Blood up to the knees, the waist, the chest. On the walls and the ceiling are chunks of rotten flesh, piles of bleeding entrails. The steps are slippery from slimy bits of brain. Undecided, the young soldiers jam the corridor. Then somebody in the darkness lets a huge dog off its chain."_


	5. Boron

5.) Boron

_Individuals are never so poisonous as the assimilation of them collectively._

_**IIIA**_

Death was a constant.

Possibly the one true constant in this world. Regardless the circumstances, young or old, good or evil, exceptional or common, Death came to everyone, no matter how we tried to cheat it. It came in a soft lazy glide or a swift beating flurry of wings; Death whispered into the ears of lovers and kissed the brows of children. Death too came to those men who believed them masters of it, and to them it came with vengeance, as only a chained wild thing could do as it cast off its shackles and turned on the abusive master, on the mortals who presumed to hold power over something as vast and volatile as Death.

Inspector Malcolm C. Lavaliere was a man who understood power, how to wield it, how to wear it, how to casually and callously strip it from others. He did so now, sipping coffee from the dainty china cup, while several miles and hours away Death would sate it's appetite for murder in an auto shop on OBT, sitting in the power seat of the spacious office made cramped by hastily stored file folders and important documents in need of attention. The Supervisor currently assigned to the mission stood shocked, off-guard, in the doorway of his own office, it pleased him to know that his mere presence intimidated the man; Lavaliere casually placed the cup back on its delicate saucer, and reclined in the supervisor's comfy armchair.

The Inspector was not an imposing man by physical form, slick, oily, what one would picture for a Hollywood-cast lawyer or salesman, his trim body filled out an excellently cut suit in a black so severe made his skin look pasty. Carefully styled blonde hair shades lighter than his square little mustache was combed back from a sharp face with plastic smile, his eyes were hard ice beneath delicately arched eyebrows. He turned that chilling stare to Komui now, his lips curved into a slimy little grin that didn't reach his eyes.

The look never failed to intimidate. It worked best on those directly under his power, he enjoyed keeping the Finders, the Soldiers, the lab workers, the backstabbing ladder climbers, and of course the Supervisors, the very people in charge of the individual ecosystems of each and every Branch and subdivision, on their toes. Never knowing when he was going to drop by, analyze them and their progress. Reminding them who was in charge, who oversaw them, who approved or disapproved of every request they made of Central, who controlled all but the most personal of their everyday lives.

"Come in Supervisor, we have things to discuss." It didn't take a detective to see the fatigue and sadness wearing away the Supervisors face, and Lavaliere stood up to come around the big fancy desk to greet him. He amused himself by offering his hand and seeing Komui flinch at the uncharacteristic move, he was nervous. Good. Lavaliere often found fear to be an excellent motivator, and if he kept the Supervisor off balance more the better, one whose thoughts were scrambled tended to have difficulty lying.

"Inspector Lavaliere, I wasn't aware you would be visiting." Komui's eyes had gone flat and cool, the tension at the corners tightening as he schooled his face, they shook hands only briefly, Komui's were a little damp.

"I had business in Washington, we're entering an Election year you know." He excused both his attendants with a nod and took a seat in one of the big chairs flanking the couch, giving the Asian man his full attention as the Supervisor walked around the desk.

Komui would not admit it, but he felt better with the desk between them.

"How is your sister doing? I heard she took a hit in Malan, recovering well?"

Komui paused briefly as he settled into his chair, and faced the inspector with a pleasant expression. "It was simply a graze, ricochet I believe they said, no muscular damage, we have had her on desk work for the past month."

"Splendid, I had worried over your reaction to her being assigned to this mission." His smile was at its oiliest. "You are rather protective of her."

Komui balled his fists on his knees beneath the desk and wished dearly he could bash the man's face in, they both new the exact nature of Lenalee's assignment here, as tied into the pulse of the Order as Lavaliere was there would have been no way for him not to have known the enormous fit Komui had thrown to every member of administration above his head, yet he had never been able to contact the Inspector directly, and in the end his choice had been hopelessly limited, supervise the new sub-branch or send his sister alone. Impotence boiled in his gut as he forced himself to be pleasant. "As you and I both know Allen is not interested in females, so my worrying over her would be moot." They had known that, damn it they had known that from the start.

They had used his sister's safety and chastity as leverage to force him to take this position. **Why**?

"Yes, I had read that in the report, strange turn of events but he has responded well to a few operatives who approached him in the field. Perhaps we can explore that route a little more." He wondered if Komui was aware his brow puckered when such mundane undercover topics such as sex and disposal were discussed.

But such things where not why he had come here.

The Inspector had spent all of his life in the Black Order, the good majority of it in a command position, he could remember names and faces of members and soldiers long since dead, dead before this man was even born, he could recall back to the times the Order was still controlled by the Catholic Church, before it seceded into its own power, his family still had close contacts within the Vatican, and he could count on one hand the number of supervisors paraded through his life he had felt anything but contempt for. Komui was in that hand. Strong, resourceful, dedicated; both defiant and obedient to superiors, Lavaliere respected him, even liked him on the occasion, but was never reserved in his willingness to use him to his own ends. It was, after all, his job to know his subordinates, to utilize their strengths and weaknesses, to keep or dispose of them as they fell in and out of favor…

"I also read, in the report recently placed on your desk, that you have lost contact with him? Tell me Komui, how with all the resources and manpower you have at your disposal, you managed to lose a 22 year old boy? One who does not use any type of vehicle or travel very far from the greater Orlando area?"

Komui's neck constricted and he raised his hands to clasp them on the desk, leaning forward. "This is a large city, Inspector, but not difficult to navigate quickly on a bicycle, Allen frequently disappears from our radar on Sundays, where we assume from previous attempts to shadow him that he has doctors' appointments. The medical district, being situated close to the downtown area and Amtrak station as well as on a heavily trafficked street like Orange Blossom Trail which extends from Orlando all the way to Kissimmee, is easy to lose a tail in. Even if he did not know he was being followed."

"Yet in all those previous incidents he has not disappeared for over a few hours, so why is it you haven't found him yet? You realize that the Noah could have made a grab while you were distracted by this incident in Oviedo?"

"That incident happens to be a groundbreaking bust on a storage and distribution lab, if you would wait for my report I will be able to give you a breakdown on everything we have discovered in a few hours, until then-"

"In a few hours Allen Walker will still be missing, and we will be no closer to bringing down the Millennium Earl. You forget Komui, your mission here is not such mundane things as Akuma or distribution routes. This bust should have been handed over to another team immediately and your focus put back on the boy. The eyes you have on his apartment confirm that he has not yet returned home. It is approaching morning, and no known history of his indicates he ever stays over at a lover's."

"Cross however **has** returned home," Komui pressed back, "and does not show any outward sign of agitation indicating he is at all worried about Allen's disappearance. One of our own is down, Inspector."

"Soldiers die every day; you are wasting resources while your objective slips through your hands."

Komui shoved up from his desk, any number of things on his lips that he would not be able to ever retrieve once loosed, he was saved from whatever he would have said by the phone at his side. Snatching it up he barked. "What?"

"You want to come see this." It was Peck, sounding like a happy child.

"What is it? I'm in a meeting with Inspector Lavaliere."

"Bring him too, it's big. It's big and fucking beautiful."

Komui looked at the Inspector, who sat relaxed in his chair, not betraying a bit of the urgency he claimed to have in finding Allen Walker. "We'll be down in a moment." He hung up. "That was Riggory Peck. He apparently found something intriguing in this time wasting adventure we're having in Oviedo."

"I'm sure it will be enlightening."

Komui stopped at the door and gave him a dark look. "The Finders are all out looking for him, we've been trying to trace where he went, if you read the report you would know Allen appeared for a brief time outside of the Medical district, disappeared for a few hours, and reappeared in the downtown area where a relay race was being held. We are looking for him, and when we find him I will update you on his location. Until then give my men some breathing room and let them do their jobs."

Without waiting for a reply or to see if the Inspector would follow to the labs Komui shut the door and rushed off.

_**IIIA**_

There where knives in his head, his thoughts were smothered in a drowning fog of pain and that breathless clutching agony he knew so well within his heart.

It was a raw ruinous experience, the death of a member of the family, no words ever could describe the sorrow or loss. It was worse, miserably worse, when a device implanted within you violently brought the news upon your kin that a loved one had passed.

The alert system had been the Earl's whim, after the 14th's merciless slaughter of the last generation all had submitted to a new technology, syncing them to one another, heart and mind. With the added benefit of each death being as painful for everyone else as it was for the victim.

This hopefully to deter future fratricide.

Unfortunately so far this debilitating communication was the only portion that was currently in perfect working order; all excepting the Earl lay where they fell, recovering from the anguish, in their minds not a thought flittered, wiped clean by the pain. Through the white noise inside their heads only the one name, their fallen brother, sounded.

Titanium had fallen.

Even through the chemical fog Allen knew the ache, it followed him into the forced void brought on by sedation, down into the place nightmares dwelled. It burned and boiled and seared down to his bones and inside his head he screamed. He had no breath to make a sound, no strength to writhe in the torment that clawed with blazing talons. He called to his most secret of companions, but to no avail. Neah was, as before, silent. He plummeted down the pit alone, only the pain for company. He surrendered to it, and to the darkness, and with that surrender could finally float away.

Beside Allen, Tyki cradled his head between his knees, breathing deep, concentrating on the pulsing in his temples and behind his eyes, the remnants of that sharp bright pain within his skull.

How? How could Titanium fall?

He knew Skin had followed that man, the Asian. He knew, or suspected, what had happened, and in his heart he felt the sorrow and regret give way to boiling rage. Carefully he uncurled his hands from their fists and pushed himself up, gazing at his kin, Allen's pale face and bruised eyes, they had whipped his face with cool cloths that remained around his neck and over his forehead, his white hair lay flat and damp against his head. So fragile looking, they forgot too often how weak, how human they all really were, and Allen more than any of them.

If he didn't despise the Order so much, did not long so greatly for its destruction, how long ago would they have lost him? How easily would the child with no purpose have given in to the comforting promises of Death? Would this new loss, would Skin's death cause it to burn brighter, or fizzle out?

So long as he has this hatred, he can survive. So long as the fire of hungering vengeance burns within him he can overcome anything. A weak heart, who needs such a thing? Cleave it from his chest, and in its place let the furnace of his hatred power his corpse.

"I'll be back Garoto." Tyki promised, breathless, placing the deck of cards in the upturned palm of the prosthetic like a ward.

He had to go to the Earl.

Regardless of where they were stationed, they all would have to come here now. This matter would be addressed. The Earl would see to that.

He wondered how the Order would handle the entire Noah family in one place? He wondered how the Earl would enact their revenge.

Oh there would be vengeance, he thought as he stepped into the elevator, his hands curling once more at his sides. There would be vengeance.

Starting with that long haired pretty boy.

_**IIIA**_

While for some Death circled gleefully, tapping skeletal fingers to heads and counting contemplatively in some macabre parody of a children's game, to others the day dawned slow and tranquil. Washing away the mourning of loss from Death's callous play, soothed and comforted by another's touch.

Morning sun peaked through the horizontal blinds at the two lovers still wrapped up in bed and each other, beamed in to crawl lazily up the bed sheets and heat a wide dark arm settled across pale shoulders. The change in temperature had cataract white eyes slitting open, a shift in body weight had the bed creak out a weak, pained whine.

Marie ran a hand up soft warm skin until it settled at the top of his girlfriend's head, then slid it down over waves of thick hair and a smooth length of back, finger pads tracing the subtle rises of spine. Miranda stirred, arched under his touch, the little hills shrank to one narrow indent into the skin, his fingers followed the valley down to the curve of her rear before traveling up once more.

That thick mass of hair at his shoulder shifted, cool air touched where pliant skin vacated, the curve of a cheek against his clavicle and the exhale of lungs out over his throat, lips, warm and a little damp pressed to his pulse.

"Good morning," he said and felt the bed give at his thigh where a knee was placed, the body against his lift, the soft mouth skim up over his chin. He tasted her breath before her lips slid over his own, the assuring weight of his hand on her back had her settling back against him, skin to skin, into the sweet, gentle kiss.

His need for her pressed against her thigh and he heard her huff out a laugh, felt the puff of breath against his face. There was no hesitancy here, it had taken months to ease away the layers of self-doubt and soothe back anxiety, Marie was a patient man by nature, and the rewards of that patience were boundless. In these small moments between them, little pockets of solitude and silence, Miranda was safe, and self-assured. She could slide her hand down his torso and take him in her hand, a task that weeks ago would still have mortified her, and know her effect on him.

Being together, so near to each other for so long a time, was a luxury they never had before. The intimacy and privacy afforded was good for them. In moments like this he could assure her not only with words but with actions as well, a simple touch could be enough, he could embrace her here, just gently holding her, for as long as she desired. He could take his time, and help her find what she liked, and what she needed. She had come here at her own pace, and now even if it was still so easily shattered, she had some measure of confidence.

The day dawns, Death circles, and lovers embrace. The world spins on, the lives of soldiers spent and wasted set always at the table of the ever hungering war, and while those lovers held tight to each other, elsewhere others died.

_**IIIA**_

Something was broken inside him.

It was the first sane thought he had after putting the iron beam through his attacker's brain. He staggered away from the scene in a haze of pain, ears ringing, half blind, with hot knives stabbing into his chest. It was hard to breath, and when he coughed his world exploded in agony, blood flooded his mouth.

Bastard broke his ribs, as least one, he could fucking **feel** it digging into the lung it likely punctured. Still, with adrenaline buzzing through his overtaxed system making his movements spasmodic, he drug himself up from the floor and over to where he thought, maybe, the rodent had been thrown.

His first order of business, since the Noah had regrettably passed on, was to search out the little rat thing and see if it was still living. It had saved his life after all, or a severe injury at the least. Probably would have been pretty fucking difficult to kill the Noah with **two** collapsed lungs.

And the Moyashi would probably shit oceans if the thing was dead.

He spotted blond fur on the floor, speckled with the wet shine of dark liquid, was it oil or blood? 'Don't be dead.' he begged in his mind, because fuck if he wanted to bring a dead yellow rat back to that fucking ass. It lay limp against a row of tool chests, side heaving and blood pooling from its nose and mouth. When he scooped it up it wrapped two claw tipped hands around his thumb in a tiny furry hug, fur so soft against his skin.

He refused to acknowledge the arm that stretched up from his gut to fist his heart and **yank**.

It definitely needed immediate medical attention, but he had no experience in animals, and it was so tiny he didn't care to risk any attempt, so he grabbed a filthy, oil stained rag from a workbench and hoped for the best.

He retreated back into the office, ignoring the two other bodies, and searched for supplies while he called the Order for backup from the office cordless phone; his own being a shattered mess, slippery from the blood on his hands that leaked into the cracks and ruined what he might have been able to manage with the spider-webbed screen.

His call had been short and simple, but that was usual for him. The moron on desk duty at the other end of the line had tried to ask questions instead of getting his ass in gear and putting out the call, so Kanda hung up on him. He may or may not have threatened something along the lines of shoving his fucked up car up the man's ass, or just thought it. His brain was a little fuzzy at the moment.

All he could do now was wait, and hope the traffic on OBT wasn't too much of a fucking mess.

But hey, first aid kit.

Apparently injuries happened with a frequency and severity in an auto shop to warrant storing a small health clinic in the office. So Kanda sat in his boxers on the toilet in the dingy, closet sized bathroom with the first aid kit the size of a gym bag opened and gutted on the blood speckled floor at his feet, holding a ziplock bag of ice to his broken face.

Blood still dripped from his hand onto the floor and he let it, it was minor enough, but he stood, lifted the ice, and looked in the mirror. His eyes were blackening, one swelling shut, and beneath the swelling his pupil had burst, that meant he had to go to the labs, he wouldn't be able to heal something as delicate as eyesight on his own, and that pissed him off more than anything else. He **hated** the labs.

His nose was probably broken. There were several cuts where skin had burst like overstuffed stitching when the tire made contact, and his cheek from nose to ear was the purple of angry broken vessels, contributing to the swelling eye, which would bruise the worst.

He could move his jaw, with pain and difficulty, so it wasn't broken, there was that.

He had cleaned most of the wounds by the time fatigue and fight caught up with him, bloodied cotton gauze and their wrappings filled a waste basket. Someone must have recently pulled a muscle as there were packages of icyhot patches which he blessed back to testing and trial stages, slapping them onto his singing shoulder, knee, and hip, added to his battered face he had a fucking barber quartet of pain. The hip was the loudest of it, as was biologically meant. He **was** relieved that his knee wasn't so bad, it only felt like it was swollen to the size of a cantaloupe.

In a towel on the tank of the toilet Timcanpy slept.

_**IIIA**_

"Thanks for the ride you guys." Lavi killed the ignition and turned to smile at the two in the back seat. "Says the guy who drove, but seriously, thanks for the lift."

"Ah, sorry! I –"

Marie cut her off with a gentle hand over hers. "Kanda usually drives us in when I stay over." He unfolded his considerable mass from the car and offered his hand to Miranda behind him. "It was a mutual save."

"How do you even fit in Kanda's tiny clown car? I swear that has always bothered me, I've seen all four of you guys climb out of it.

"It used to be just the three of us, and with the top down it wasn't so bad. Daisya keeps saying we should just tie Choaji to the hood."

The joke was short, the stab of loss swift, and the silence following long.

"Guess it's back to just being three of us." Marie ran his thumb over the back of Miranda's hand, still in his own.

"We should probably head in then, Komui is going to want this report, and Tiedoll will want to see you." Awkward, how did this get so awkward? How was it that death never got easier? "Ah, here's your keys back Miranda."

"Th-Thanks."

"Hey, I was the one stranded."

The station was alive with activity when they walked through the door, Lavi rushing to Komui's office to report Allen's hospitalization after discovering that Kanda had not called it in the previous night. The loud scolding Lavi had attempted to give him upon finding this out was met with blank eyes and deadpanned face, and damnit but Komui wasn't answering his phone and neither was the Old Man.

The base was less an actual office area and more a maze of temporary walls crafted from salvaged supermarket isle dividers, stripped of their shelves and organized into what could be somewhat passed for large cubicles. Only Komui and the Science department got the actual real offices in the back, the loading dock and storage areas converted into a mad scientist's lair.

Swinging around the corner he barely managed to not smack right into Lenalee and her delicate glass pot of scolding coffee. "Hey cutie, haven't seen your brother this morning have you?" he asked, steadying them both.

"He's in a briefing room with.. the generals." Her voice cracked. Lavi took a moment from trying to catch his breath and studied Lenalee, who was looking a little strained.

"Hey what's wrong," then kicked himself, doi. "I'm sorry, dumb question, its Daisya isn't it?" oh crap don't cry don't cry, he was not good at comforting people. Why did humans insist on getting so attached to each other in wartime? People were always and forever dying, and he really didn't know how to deal with the grief they left behind. He had to get to Komui, where did Marie disappear to? He had been right behind him two seconds ago. "Listen I know it's rough but…" He didn't know what should follow that. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. How the **hell** do you fuck up sympathy this badly?

"No it's…not just that." She shook her head and forced a smile. "Say Lavi, could you bring this coffee to my brother? I have something I need to do. They're in room 3." He nodded and took the pot, watching her dumbly as she rushed off.

Yeah, he sucked at consoling. Poor girl, she had known Daisya far longer than he had, and had been much more attached. Hopefully she was running to Marie or Miranda or someone who was not him, someone who could still work up something resembling sadness over yet another soldier fed to the insatiable hunger of War.

Hell even Kanda had a better grasp of how to handle her while she's upset, too bad he was at the hospital this morning.

Shiiiit! Hospital. Allen. Right.

"Ow, okay, do not run with full coffeepot. Thank you physics, for reminding me." He hopped around swearing and blowing on his hand before, knuckles stinging like a mother, he hurried, carefully, through the building.

The Interview Rooms were at the back of the "official" base, before you opened a secret door into one of the annexed stores, a small luggage and souvenir shop with a permanently hung "coming soon" sign on its brown papered window. It was in actuality a highly secured holding area with 2 cramped cells barely large enough for the three steel shelves laughably called beds bolted into the wall of each. On the opposite side of the base was an out of business something or other with a false "For Lease" phone number and currently held the evidence and records storage, where Lavi spent the vast majority of his time avoiding spending the vast majority of his time.

These areas on either side of the former department store turned fake cop shop were claustrophobic without the alterations, with them they bordered suffocating. Still, it was far preferable to trying to fit the amenities in the one big space given to them. Lavi appreciated the leg room, as well as the maneuverability allotted him to successfully evade his charmer of a desk neighbor and his mentor both, for entirely different reasons.

He swung into Room 3 and the middle of what appeared to be one hell of a party.

Interview 3 was their largest interrogation room, which put it somewhere between underfunded classroom and one car garage, because of this and the privacy each room needed to fulfill its designed intention it was often used as a conference room. At the moment it contained most of the science department, a few key Finders, The 4 Generals currently visiting to help profile and hopefully soon take down former General Cross, the beautiful and reclusive electronics expert and criminal profiler Hevlaska, and in the middle of the chaotic gathering Supervisor Komui and Inspector Lavaliere.

Lavi had just a moment to conclude that, oh, this is what she was upset about, before he was spotted with the coffee and pulled into the bedlam.

_**IIIA**_

Sore. He was sore, his limbs, his head, it all ached with the burn of overtaxed muscles.

Yesterday must have been busy…

Or he'd been beaten. It certainly felt like someone had taken a big meaty fist to him.

His face was hot, his eyes swollen, he must have been crying. He didn't remember why. It had been so long since he had last wept.

Except it wasn't.

Memories were funny things for him. At least he thought they were. He wondered if other people had the same problems some mornings, tired, sore, uncomfortable mornings. Mornings where he pulled his memories from the void like cards from a deck. He knew he wasn't where he thought he was, not time wise, but he didn't know where. His world was the strange not-black of closed eyes and wandering mind. He couldn't see his body, but he knew it was there, could shift if he wanted, but how badly it would hurt was as yet unknown. He was almost not quite he could ignore it if he didn't think about it comfortable with the ache and he didn't want to wake the pain up. Sleeping pain could be a dangerous thing. Was it big? Was it powerful? Or would it just blink bleary eyes at him from the shadows and settle back into dreams?

When it was cold and wet he sat like this. Sometimes if there was no wind your body would heat the cloth, and you could be not really so cold, unless you moved, and the cold touched you. He sat in the cold, wet from the snow, often before he traveled with Mana.

Mana. He turned the name over in his mind, studied it with what he already had in his hand. It wasn't like a game, none he could remember playing, and games was there in his hand next to the people will hurt you memories. He took games out and set it aside, he didn't need to worry about whether he was playing by the rules or not. It was his mind.

A new card came off the deck and into his hand unbidden; he played this game with someone else. Neah. Who was not here. They made this game to help them sort each other out.

What was his, what was mine.

Otherwise the cards get scattered and mixed and we can't tell who from what and we're trapped in here until we have them gathered up in the right decks.

They did this when the cards got scattered. Yes. How did they get scattered though?

The world shifted, the not yet forgotten pain stirred behind him, and he could feel, as the beast's breath ghosted his skin hot and damp, sheets under him, a stiff bed, sounds? Sounds, but he pulled back, focused on the cards. He didn't want to wake up yet. Sleep.

Was he asleep?

Sleep beast. Sleep until the game is finished please?

Were they playing a game? Games drifted back from the discard pile into his hand, and he focused, focus don't let them move without you, on keeping it where it belonged. He set Neah down as well, whoever it was he wasn't here.

**I am alone.**

Alone. Alone alone.

The word vibrated, unseen, but powerful. This, this invisible humming sound in front of him.

Was he alone?

…**Always alone….**

Cards shivered in his deck. Floating above each other, the deck swelled, compressed, an accordion of cards whispering to each other.

…**always been alone…**

The vibration was hoofbeats, the cards flying apart and slamming together like applause, are we at a show? Each one came with a memory of sound. Train's thundering past on wheels that beat against the tracks in an angry tantrum. People talking, loud, shouting, car horns honking, kids crying with the shriek of a train's brakes.

He reached out to still the cards. Settle them back in a neat deck.

Cars honking, train's rushing, children crying.

They were rotating now as well. Flat and face down, spinning and lifting, floating up and down.

The chiming laughter of a bell above a store entrance.

Like the wave a sound made when recorded.

Someone was crying. Begging.

FIGHTING.

It hurts more when you struggle.

The beast was waking up. He felt it stir, felt the pain blossom in him in flowering pinks and reds and yellows.

The cards settled easily under his hand, pressed back, quieting, but

**ALONE**

still made its way around the empty not black area of his mind.

The cards didn't stop vibrating, but instead trembled more, captured between his hands, until he couldn't hold them together anymore, and the pain, awakened, saped his strength in a breathless explosion, horrors swamped him, clung to him, beat against him with fists of broken glass.

_You're no use if you're not earning me p's chavi. _

Cards flew everywhere, slicing into the abyss, searing their way across his brain. Fifty two pickup, games giggled as it flew by.

Breaks shrieked, the world tilted, shuddered, Black, twisted skeletal limbs jutted up, grasping at him. White bullets shot by, somehow never touching, slamming into some invisible force right in front of him, one of the gnarled, multi armed skeletons grabbed him from behind. He clawed at it, but could not look away. Everything screamed towards him, and the mouth of the beast opened. Lights, yellow sickly lights ran along the roof of its mouth. He looked away, just a moment, and beside him was someone, someone he knew.

Red.

Everything was hot and black, but also red.

What kind of color could be black and red?

The arm across his chest held him hard in place, but the monster that was pain was real and alive and horribly awake.

It hurts more if you struggle.

_**IIIA**_

Breath heaving in his lungs he lay still, stiff as a posed mannequin under the blankets, and carefully moved his arms up and out. Meeting no resistance he felt a sob of relief shudder out of him. Not in the box. He wasn't in the box. He wasn't back at the fairgrounds, and everything, the Earl, Cross, Mana, hadn't been a cruel dream.

Deeply, slowly he breathed, trying to calm himself. He came to realize it was not true dark he woke to. Small machines stood beside where he lay, soft noises, a quiet hum, and a gentle glow from readings. He could see the shapes of shadows in that glow.

No. no no no Why was he **here?**

Hospital. The knowledge screamed through the confusion, shattering it, slicing his mind with a million jagged shards. The world folded in on itself and he was at the center taking the weight, pressed into his bed under the force. They would take him away. That's what they always did. Take him away from Mana and punish him for running, for trying to escape. Back into that cage with the shit and the chains, eyes, laughing evil angry eyes delighting in watching him suffer, hands reaching through, just another animal up for amusement, a beast to be observed, broken, auctioned off to some monster who would use him, a breathless agony beyond describing. Please no, no, I'll be good. I'll work harder. Won't run away. Please.

_They'll drag you back. They'll find you wherever you go and drag you pack. Papers say you're mine, just like an animal, got papers for you don't I? You want to leave? I have places I can put you. Rubbish always has its places to be put._

It's worse when you fight, when you cry and beg.

Sometimes they like it, they want you to, they hurt you more and you never want to go back into that dark tent where the sheets are clean and fresh and the air is stale and musky.

Sometimes you just shut your mouth because _no one wants to hear that shit you little cocksucker, how's a man supposed to get off when you're wailing like someone's hacking at you with a cleaver. You've got one talent and you can't even do that right. _

The air is cold and his breath comes in puffs, he's afraid to breathe, afraid that those clouds will rise up like smoke out of the tent and people will see and they'll know what he's done.

_Miserable little cuss, there's no place for worthless things here. Where's the danari coming from chavi, you don't do what you're told? _

He just wanted it to end. He didn't mean to. But it was big and heavy and fit in his hand and it was right there. Just right there.

Gaudy carnival lights washed over him, laughter, the squeal of a child delighted, ringing musical chimes and bells of a won game. Footsteps pass, a child's skidding tracks, "pick up your feet" a woman scolds in that tone that hints of frustration. Somewhere in the crowd pickpockets make their wages and vocal game runners touting their prizes steal what's left.

He lies still as death in that corner he was thrown in, watching the two unmoving bodies on the ground. He knows the smell of blood. Knows it by the sharp taste in the top of his mouth. He's wet with it and cold. Everything hurts.

He's broken them.

Broken things get tossed away. Thrown in with the waste and forgotten. Down with the rats and the worms, until mold grows on your skin and maggots eat your insides and you're screaming and screaming but no one hears you and no one cares and you're rotting while you're still alive, all because you couldn't take your punishment and you went and needed a doctor called. They look inside you for the parts that don't work and they say you're trash and they get rid of you. That's what doctors do.

_You want to go in the trash chavi? _

One of them moves, a spasmodic twitch, a shift, bones moving under the skin on their own. The eyes, the unseeing eyes flinch, lock on him. Fat sausage fingers tap the floor, thrash like surprised worms. They halt, digging in with shiny well groomed nails on the cheap rug. Drag him. Drag the awkwardly angled body brokenly across the floor. Crawling towards him with those wide dead eyes, the side of his face gored by that one lethal blow.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Hands reach for him and he lurches from bed, rips and tears at the saline drip, the bag gone empty, the line down to his arm now red with blood pulled into it from the suction. His prosthetic is off again and he can't reach with his deformed arm easily. The struggle sends him to the floor, the drip pole and bag falling with, smacking him and clattering against the metal bed before thumping to the carpet.

He curled against the bed, just under the maneuverable tray, like a wounded animal. Wild, grieving keens clogged at the back of his throat, silenced by terror, backing up his lungs, choking him. His chest heaved in an attempt to gain air, the pain under his sternum a great heaviness. Pressure bearing down on his chest, he couldn't breathe. **He couldn't breathe**.

Go away. Don't find me. I don't want to go back.

Go away.

Don't hurt me.

I'll do better. I'll be good.

Mana. Mana, please oh god Mana.

Please. Please. He pushed his face against bare knees and wept silently, and repeated his father's name. Held it to him like a talisman until enough of his mind had escaped the thoughtless void of great irrational fear to control his breathing, in and out in slow, deep gulps. Shuddering at first from weeping, but even now, slow and even, the world that had been bending inward around him receded back into place, the pressure eased, the pain quieting to an ache that would stay with him some time. He raised his head from his knees and, calmer, in complete control of himself, gazed around his room, rubbing at the center of his chest with the heel of his hand.

It's okay, he was okay. Just needed to… just need to get his bearings and see what he needs to do to get out of this place.

How long had he been out? He could remember this room, fuzzy from the chemicals pumped into him, a type of blurry dream sequence effect, he was talking with Cross and Tyki? Then pain. Cross left, but Cross left before the pain. Where had Tyki gone?

Calmer now he removed the finger clamp, then carefully retracted the needle from his now blood smeared arm, applying pressure and raising it above his head.

He needed to get in contact with someone. Needed to find out who it had been, who had they lost? He could barely remember the image of a name in his mind, but the drugs had done something, messed with something. Reaching for that blurry image it evaded and danced away and once more he was left with these empty rooms where memories should be.

How many were there now? Blank little pockets, things stolen from him. People, conversations, nice memories, bad memories, empty walls where all he had was this great terrible feeling of loss.

Neah was stealing things from him.

Was this the same? Had he really hit his head so hard to dislodge yesterday's events or had Neah taken yet another room. Where was that man? Why wasn't he answering?

Taking a chance he rolled over and felt along for a wall, slamming his shoulder into a metal chair and swallowing back a string of filth boiling up in his throat. There were curtains here, drawn shut over a narrow window with long vertical blinds, the glow of daylight seeping through their gaps. He drew the fabric back and with screwed shut eyes he peaked outside, just a tiny inch, the light sent a whole new pain through his head, but he scrunched his face and cracked a lid. Looked like midday, people were crowding the tiny regulated smoking areas, walking in little bundles towards the garage or the bus stop. One woman was running, purse bobbing behind her, towards where a city Lynx bus was loading people on one end and spilling them out another.

Probably shift change, which meant anywhere from three to five in the afternoon.

Sometime soon someone would come up and check on him. Change or remove his saline bag, probably put more drugs in his system. Luckily he had awoken to a window of opportunity, a peak out the door, no one manning the work station, well when an opportunity is provided why waste it?

He slipped out, quiet as a ghost.

_**IIIA**_

"So wait, why have we never found traces of it before?" Lavi asked, his hand moving across his notebook jotting down facts and observations in the Bookmen's cryptic shorthand. They were on the tail end of the briefing and Komui was taking questions. Lavi wanted to kiss Lenalee for giving him the chance to observe this early instead of waiting for the meeting Komui and the Generals would have with the rest of their team. All thoughts of Daisya's death and Allen's hospitalization were forgotten in his enthusiastic devouring of this new discovery.

"Most of our Akuma specimens are "dried out" and already suffering from withdrawal symptoms, the calcification of their muscles would have destroyed any trace left, if there even would be any after so long between injections, and those we take alive are usually kept for periods of time to run tests and record withdrawal symptoms before humane euthanization. In autopsy of those killed in line we had never actually cut into the needle marks, as to do so would damage the patterns. To study the muscles we always peeled the skin back. We had always operated under the assumption that the drug was administered intramuscularly much the same as other injection drugs, the star pattern would make it impossible to achieve an intravenous injection."

"Wouldn't the size of the bore needle have indicated something like this?" someone else asked.

Komui spread his hands. "So long after an injection it is difficult to measure the exact needle size, people simply heal and scar differently. A fresh injection might have given someone pause in examining, but with the overall acceptance of the manner of injection no one would have questioned it. In all honestly we took for granted the official line that the drug was injected similar to any other number of drugs on the market. Years ago this fact may have been right, we have no way of knowing how long they have been using this method, if it is new, if it is even experimental to this batch recovered from the scene."

"No actual drug was recovered?"

"No, this was a distribution lab, likely awaiting a shipment. The front would in all likelihood send out to the area's Akuma that a new batch was ready and each would arrive at a scheduled time to receive their injection, once the area has been tended to everything would be packed up and a new location would be chosen for the next shipment. This is an established pattern previously confirmed by interrogated Akuma, the labs we have raided in the past are empty and have been for months if not years. No Akuma is given any contact information, no way they can beg a hit, if they are no longer considered useful they are simply not contacted and are left to dry out."

"Why was this area not fully cleared?" It was Winters who asked this, and once again Komui had no answer.

"We can only assume Daisya caught them off guard and they moved the location quickly in case we raided, we do not know what they managed to torture out of him, my own personal exam of his body on scene indicates he was alive when they began cutting into him. We were lucky to have secured the area in the time we did, the few things we have would have been gone by morning, and it is unlikely we would have ever recovered Daisya's body."

"Could it maybe be that this is all part of the new Level Three we see coming out of Japan?"

"Again we don't know how long they have been using this technique, it very well could be experimental and—" he was cut off by loud arguing at the door. The door slammed open and a man dressed in the uniform of a Finder rushed in while two others of similar dress tried to stop him. He spotted Komui at the front and tried to look for some way to get to him without having to shove his way through the crowd of imposing ranked officers. "What's going on?" Komui demanded.

Taking that as excuse enough to break chain of command the Finder spoke loudly, not really to any person in the room, "My Lead told me to tell you that Yu Kanda has called for emergency assistance at a location near OBT and that he believes it has something to do with Allen Walker's disappearance."

The room erupted into chaos, everyone speaking at once, jostling each other. "Everyone calm down, Lavi sit down!" Said man stood, his notebook and supplies falling from his lap onto the floor, and shoved his way out of the room, sprinting to the back where the vehicles were parked and where the crew assembled to respond to the call would gather. All through this the four Generals remained seated, Tiedoll taking a strengthening drink of coffee and nodding at Nine's reassuring murmur.

"Everyone sit down and be quiet." Lavaliere, who had remained an oppressive shadow at the back of the room, spoke sternly. The result was immediate, like that of an overbearing and particularly unfair teacher to his students, and the room quieted. He spoke to the Finder, an unfamiliar face so he must be new to the Order, who stood petrified before them all. "What makes your Lead believe Exorcist Kanda's call pertains to Walker?"

"He..He mentioned his name on the phone." The finder faltered, with a slight tremble to his lips. "He, he said.. um.." His eyes slid around all the heads of the branch in the room and wondered if he would be punished if he used the language Kanda had spat at him on the phone. Best not to chance it.

"Out with it!"

The man started. "He wasn't making sense much, but he said he needed a Vet for Allen Walker's rat."

"His what?"

"Josh," Komui addressed him and the Finder was relieved, almost running up to the front of the room to reach him, "tell us exactly what Kanda said.

Josh flushed, mortified. "E-exactly?" his voice was a pained whine.

"If you don't want to swear at your superior officer that's fine," he tried a reassuring smile, "personally I'd relish the chance to use such language at my boss." He did not let his eyes slide to Lavaliere.

"He, he wasn't making much sense sir, he sounded out of it, but he sounded like himself, not like someone pretending to be him or him reading something from a paper or anything."

"I understand, it didn't seem like a trap, an injury perhaps."

"Yes sir," he looked so relieved, "he said, and these are his words please, he said "I need some fucking backup and a vet for the rat, and don't send someone who is going to piss and moan about bodies because a lot of them and head hurts so don't do it." When I asked what his location was he said "The autoshop," and when I asked where and if he needed medical attention, because his words were a little slurred, he um.. he said "On W, like Walker, as in Allen Walker's rat dies and I listen to him bitch I am shoving what is left of my car up your-"

"That's enough Josh, we get the picture. Did he say anything else?"

"No sir, he hung up after that. He was mostly incoherent, most of his words skipped or I didn't catch them."

"Thank you, you can return to your desk. If there are any updates please see me in my office." Dismissed the finder bolted from the room, his immediate superiors hot on his heels. Komui turned to the rest of the room. "This concludes our briefing; expect a full update for you on your desk by the end of the day. We will be looking into this matter more carefully, please fully inform your staff of these new discoveries when you receive your file, and check with them and your records to see if you or they have anything to add. Bookman I trust you to look through our past autopsy reports for any indication that these techniques were employed before this discovery. General's, if you would remain please."

As everyone filed out Lavaliere and Komui, as well as Bookman and Reever, made their way towards the coffee table where the Generals sat. Peck and the scientists were eager to get back to their labs and brief their underlings, as well as scrutinize any and all files they had on hand.

"Lavi handed me a file, and a short oral report, before we began the briefing. It appears Allen was involved in an accident of some kind at Lake Eola yesterday, Kanda who was on scene at the time took him to the hospital before being called by Marie and Choaji, where they then proceeded to the Akuma lab."

"Why wasn't this reported yesterday?" Lavaliere demanded.

Komui held up a hand and continued. "After he was dismissed from the scene Kanda received a call from the officers on the accident and he returned to the hospital with Lavi, who assumed Kanda had reported the incident, where they used hospital paperwork as an excuse to sneak Lavi into the offices and see if they could get hold of Allen's medical history. They succeeded, I have a copy of it as well as Kanda's full report right here." He handed the file to the Inspector and turned towards the Generals, Tiedoll in particular, "Kanda intended to visit Allen in the Hospital, possibly to see if he was lucid but also to guard him as neither he or Lavi reported it last night. This incident may have been a Noah attack, or it may be that he got into an accident on the road. If he is injured he may not be making much sense. I will head to the location now, I ask that you stay here and focus on General Cross and the Akuma Labs. Winters, Nine, Yeager," he nodded to them in turn, "I thank you for taking the time to come out here. If you have any more on the Cross matter please work with Tiedoll and Reever until my return. We will call a meeting for your team members here sometime today or tomorrow for a briefing, until then how much you tell them is at your own discretion. You will all receive full reports for your files and for the rest of your team when you return to Headquarters."

He bowed to them and walked out.

_**IIIA**_

The place smelled of death, and death tended to smell like shit.

The common assumption was that rotting corpses smelled the worst, and depending on the elements this could be correct. Kanda never minded the rot, most times, but the newly dead had that septic smell of voided bowels that stuck in your throat and gaged you.

These ones smelled like shit and too much blood.

When they mentioned the smell of death in a story, it usually meant the fuckers shat themselves.

He had tried to keep an ear out for his backup, but he must have dozed because the next blink of his eyes he was shoving his standard issue in Lavi's face on pure blind instinct, the readhead's own barrel aimed at him.

The idiot had gone through the door high, weapon teacupped in his hands, Lavi was hopeless with a gun, Kanda didn't understand how the moron had passed his exam and was allowed to carry the damn thing in the field. Likely to shoot a toe off trying to holster it.

With a relieved smile Lavi lowered his SIG and was halfway through a shout to whoever was with him before it registered Kanda's gun was still on him.

"Uh, Yu? Mind putting that away?"

Ordinarily Kanda may have held there longer, stretching Lavi's nerves to their brink just for the fucking hell of it, but Timcanpy's situation made him tsk and lower his gun. 

"Jeeze," Lavi blew a breath out, staring down Mugen was one thing, he could dodge a sword, a Berretta was something else entirely, and considering Kanda's usual strict stance on gun safety and the fact that he looked like he got the shit beat out of him he didn't know if his partner was exactly all there in the head and wouldn't splatter his above average brain all over the hallway, "Fuck man, you scared the shit out of me, I called out for you, why didn't you answer?"

"My ears are ringing." Kanda deadpanned as he stuck a pinkie into one of them. He didn't exactly lie, Lavi's stupid voice indeed had to combat with the cotton stuffed pressure and high electrical tone in his ears, he just also wasn't going to include the fact that he had dozed for the past 23 minutes. "Did you bring a vet?" He tried to stand but Lavi kept him seated with a gentle pressure on his shoulders.

"Yeah, they're coming. I just was clearing the building first with a few others, are there any other people here?"

"The old man in the corner, deceased." And damn it all if that didn't suck enormous balls, he had **liked** that bastard, "and a dead girl behind the counter. Found some blood trace heading out back so he probably dragged whoever's missing out there somewhere, or they dragged themselves, haven't really looked." Which was stupid. Stupid to not search the place, clear the area, preserve the scene. Stupid to just lock himself up in the office and bathroom and assume he was alone. Even woozy from the blood loss and lack of sleep and head trauma he should have known to…

Head Trauma.

Allen Walker.

"Lavi," he said, attempting not to close his eyes and didn't even notice his voice was a tired rasp. "I want in."

"Of course Kanda, we'll get you into the car and back to the station." He pat the man's shoulder. "Just let them work on you a bit here." Lavi spotted one of the Finders and shouted "Hey! Over here!"

"Not, no sto-" he shrugged the hand off his shoulder and felt the burst of pain like fireworks under his skin and in his eyes, it helped to clear his head a bit. "No, with the Moyashi. I want in."

Lavi and the med shared a look. Beansprouts? "Okay, sir. Just lay down." The med stated, gently easing the Japanese male to the floor. "I want to check your head."

"Fuck off."

"Kanda, do as he says, you may have a serious concussion."

"Fuck, if the Moyashi can live through having his head bashed open I can handle a tire to the face."

"Oh, right, Beansprout, Allen, forgot that was what you call him for a sec."

"Brains and beansprouts aside…. You said a tire hit you?" The Finder seemed startled.

Kanda opened his eyes, fuck they kept closing on him, to glare at the man and everything took a moment to swim back into focus, plus it fucking hurt. "Yes, the fucker chucked a fucking **TIRE** at me."

"Can you tell me exactly what happened?" He asked while he opened a field bag and pulled out several items.

Kanda did so, in the short no nonsense manner he had learned since childhood, the simple flat statement of facts with no embellishments or segueing. He sat still and obedient as the asshole medic went to work on him, refusing to flinch from the smell of the antiseptic or the sight of the needle as they shot him up with whatever cocktail they felt necessary. He wouldn't be taken back to that place, the edges of his vision that tunneled and anxieties long defeated prowled in the shadows of his vision, looking for any moment a chance for reawakening. He was far from a helpless child, trapped within that cycle of violence and blood and cold, sterile rooms with a too clean chemical scent. When he finished he added "did you bring a vet for the rat?"

"We did, he should be inside now that we've cleared the building." He spoke quickly into the radio clipped at his shoulder. Then, very much concerned how the man's single nonswollen eye kept drooping the Finder instructed Lavi to help him lower Kanda to the floor. The room revolved like a merry go round and Kanda was unable to suppress the groan of pain and nausea. "Okay, we're going to do this horizontal, see if that makes things easier for you, Sir if you could try and keep him awake."

"I have some practice in that particular field." He tapped Kanda's swollen cheek until those eyes fluttered back open; well one eye, the other looked to have lost the battle to the swelling and was down for the count.

"Knock it off." Kanda weakly shoved him when he saw who was tapping him. The medic had one of his arms pinned and something clamped into his middle finger, while it beeped its warm up tone he assessed the damage.

"Just making sure your eyes aren't going to do that slow roll those girls in movies do." Lavi laughed.

"Fuck you, go away."

The med was back at his face, pen light in hand. "Can you give me your name?"

Here was a series of questions he was familiar with; having grown up with tests being conducted on him it was standard procedure. "Yu Kanda."

"Date of birth?"

"June 6th, 1985."

"And todays date?'

"September 28, 2011"

"Did you hit your head at all when he threw you?"

He blinked up into the pen light, hissed when a thumb pressed his cheek to keep his swollen lid open. "No, I know how to land properly."

"That's good. I don't see anything outside of a busted eye and face, you probably sloshed your brain around a bit with that tire though, definitely need to check your frontal." He was lying through his teeth, but he would save the truth for their supervisor. This was bad, but he had been a medic with the Order long enough to know how… sturdy Yu Kanda could be. He would live, if he survived what put him in this state he would live, but healing everything properly was another matter. He looked up at Komui as he entered the room with the Finder with Veterinary background. "We'll need a CT scan, probably all manner of other things. Should probably take him to a regular hospital."

"No," Kanda, upon seeing Komui, tried to stand, out of habit and training and respect, which he admitted secretly and grudgingly to himself he actually had for this man, but Komui and the drugs indicated he sit.

"You're going to feel a little woozy from the painkiller," and probably a mild sedative he figured, Kanda had a reputation after all, a violent one. "Any people?" Komui asked.

"I'm not going to a hospital." Oh no no no. Fuck that shit up a wall, he had called in a medic for the fucking rat, not himself.

They ignored him. "Two in front, young female and elderly male, one in the garage, very large male, four out back in the bed of an old Ford. Pretty messy. Kanda says it's the big guy in the garage that killed everyone and beat the shit out of him."

"He did not beat-" once again he was ignored as the vet exclaimed by the toilet.

"Oh shit, it's a Sugarglider."

"A what?"

"It's an exotic, I don't know exotics. There's a place I know that can help but it's on-"

"Go, fucking go." Kanda snarled at him. "Take a cruiser and get the fuck out of here, if that thing dies I'm taking it out of your hide."

The Vet made a sound like failing breaks, but was gone from Kanda's blurred sight in the next eye blink."

"I'll arrange for an ambulance," Komui told the medic still kneeling on the ground, there was a hopelessness in his eyes that belied the calm, casual way he spoke and Komui felt he had some idea of the seriousness of it all, "we'll take him to a hospital for the scans but after he will be brought back to the base for treatment. I'll call Bak and have them on a flight here for a blood transfusion. Don't throw away anything with his blood on it, and have a team come and collect what has been spilled. We will leave no trace of him here, bring what you collect to the lab."

"No, fuck you no." Kanda shoved himself up into a sitting position where everything broke into a swirling flash mob ballroom dance, spin dip twirl, he pressed his eyes shut and breathed. "I am not going to a goddamned-" the drugs and accent combined with his swollen face turned his words into a slurred incomprehensible language even he couldn't muddle through and he was speaking it. "Fuck, whatever. We'll talk later." Not that he had a choice in it, as soon as he set his head back down on the floor he was out, like a machine whose switch had been flipped off.

_**IIIA**_

With an unsteady hand Komui reached for his coffee cup, knocking over a stack of papers in the process. They fell in a wave to the floor, some from the top catching air and skimming over the floor far ahead their scattered filemates. He left them where they landed and drained the cold remnants of last night's coffee.

The office of the Black Order's Orlando base was far from clean, one would think with Komui's science background his work area would be spotless, sterile, and organized for efficiency. And back at HQ it was.

But back at HQ he had the privilege of a strict, no nonsense secretary and the ever relentless Reever to nag him into order. Here, in this glorified closet, things fell to waste quickly.

Stepping over the important papers and classified files littering his office floor Komui took his now empty coffee cup with him to his book case. He needed a moment to himself, this was not the first chaotic night he had seen, he was certain it would be far from the last, and he wasn't the only one running on fumes this morning. Everyone looked to him for answers, for orders, and he needed to be absolutely sure those answers, those orders, were correct.

He had sent Daisya to that building yesterday, that the man had gone alone, without backup and against procedure, did little to ease his conscience.

He had sent a man to die.

He removed his glasses and ran a thumb and index finger over his strained eyes, pinched them at the bridge of his nose.

In command he had become accustomed to giving such orders, the field of battle was too often chaotic and unpredictable, the capricious leanings of fate did not alter the very solid fact that it was he who decided who was stationed where, and so it was he who decided who lived and who died.

Orders. They were all following their orders. Unfair as it was, he must give and receive them, and stand over the dead his decisions piled before him.

A simple paper bookmark rested on the shelf among the files and folders and histories, the maps and research books, a small gift from a friend, quietly supporting him. He didn't need his glasses to know the words typed on its plain white surface. "Remember that howsoever you are played or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone."

A nice line from some work of fiction he did not know himself, but he knew the quote, had never been able to forget it.

"A king may move a man, a father may claim a son, but that man can also move himself and only then does that man truly begin his own game. Even though those who presume to play you be men of power, when you stand before God, you cannot say 'But I was told by others to do thus,' or that virtue was not convenient at the time. This will not suffice." Komui could still see Kanda's face, remembering many such faces over the years, from Daisya all the way to his sweet baby sister as he stood there watching her be taken away. Working diligently within the system because to do otherwise was suicide, of the body or the heart, so he trapped them both. Just one more link in the shackles that cuffed her here.

Thinking, he lifted the cup to his lips in habit, sighing at its emptiness.

To get coffee he would have to go back out into the commotion outside, the eager and excited scientists in their makeshift labs, none really thinking too much on the life lost as currency in the exchange for this new discovery, soldiers were on some distant lower level to them. Their place was far from battle, death a strange thing to pin to the table and dissect, to study. War made monsters of many men, those who disregard such things as empathy and pity for their own survival. What difference to them was the life of a human to that of any test subject? All for the further of their chosen field. Explainable. Justifiable.

Just following orders.

Nothing any of them could do, really. So he took his coffee and his bookmark and reentered that ivory tower.

He was beyond being surprised at how quickly the gears of the Order began to move. It took hours, long tedious hours, to sweep the Auto shop of any evidence, arrange the bodies, and set the stage for a violent and fatal performance, but only minutes to make the calls.

Little spoof devices positioned in the neighborhood confused the cellphones of those who spotted the fire, blocked carrier signals and seduced the mobiles into believing they were towers, Orange Blossom Trail was packed with traffic, Finders clogging streets in well-orchestrated accidents one after the other to delay first responders, W itself was a mass of Order members acting the part of gawkers, cars stopped in the road, fender benders, rolling out garden hoses and trying to keep the flames from the other buildings.

When the fire department did arrive it was fully involved, the most they could do was contain, and let it burn itself out.

The official line was homicide/arson, person or persons unknown assaulted the employees and owner of the business, then set it all on fire.

Detective Yu Kanda's car being there was put down off record as coincidental, three people and a phone record verified that he had called for and was picked up by his partner Lavi hours before the fire started. Obviously the fire investigators would look over every piece of evidence, sift through the remains, all lines would be explored, but no one with a badge looked too closely in their direction.

Time of death of the bodies was all but impossible to discern.

A random act of violence, a pitiful, tragic incident, and the world went about its business.

Tragedies happened all the time after all, and children needed to be picked up from school, dinner needed to be made, beer needed to be sold. Life went on. Death had dealt its hand, and in life's cruel game Death always won.

Kanda would awake, as he had thousands of times before as a child, strapped to a bed this side of uncomfortable with blurred faces and fact spouting voices and white labcoats over him. Words he didn't understand, but recognized the way you recognized a familiar scent, as ingrained in his brain as the antiseptic that sent him rocking back into that little place inside him he hated so much.

Kanda wouldn't be surprised that the Order had so thoroughly washed the scene. He expected such disregard of the nameless casualties of their war, and would in turn pay little mind to the innocent dead. It would be those in power, such as Komui, who would remember them, as they remembered each soldier.

In their hearts would be the monument where the names are carved in secret, with but a single, persistent visitor to lay a tribute at its base.

Bak Chan was one of those in power, the chief supervisor for the Asia branch of the Black Order, a short and somewhat unimposing figure who was more often accused of capitalizing on his familial ties with the Order to achieve his rank than his actual skill as a scientist and leader. Whether or not this was true, he sat now at the bedside of his family's greatest triumph and most costly mistake.

The room was small, a section of the dock area cordoned off with curtains into cramped little spaces masquerading as an infirmary. Among the x-ray and anesthetic machines, the mobile lamp and ventilator, and the large trolly bed, they barely had room for a drip stand and blood warming bath, let alone the oxygen cylinder. Something resembling a bulky ancient computer recorded vital signs while a sleek circular tower connected tubes to Kanda's unconscious body, pulling, filtering, and returning blood. It was smooth and black, looking more like some useless statuary in an upbeat modern apartment then an apheresis machine, fortunately for Kanda and his ever shortening lifespan, it was neither.

"How is he?" Bak jolted, so intent on watching Kanda's battered face he had not noticed Komui come up behind him. Although, considering the noise back here in the science department he likely wouldn't have noticed if he had been actively waiting for the man to arrive.

"The swelling is almost down enough for us to work on his eye."

"That's good." Komui rolled the unneeded x-ray machine, it always made him think of school teachers and overhead projectors when he saw it, out of the tiny room and opened an uncomfortable looking folding-chair to sit. "I'd hate to deal with him if he wakes up missing an eyeball."

"Who knows, it may grow back while we're operating." Bak laughed softly through his nose.

"Has that happened before?"

"When they-.. **he** was younger there were signs of regrowth that had to be cut away before the amputation could be reattached."

"Why not simply let it regrow?"

A shrug. Deceptively casual. "Too much risk of it growing back malformed, eyes have always been peculiar and complex things, even natural ones don't always come out perfect. Besides," he leaned over into Komui's personal space with a deadly serious expression, whispering ominously, "It may develop a mind of its own and eventually betray us all."

"Oh no!" Komui mock gasped. "Wouldn't the amputated eye be more likely to gain sentience though? It's the one unattached to him."

Bak considered this. "You're right. Who knows? Maybe all our eyeballs are secretly plotting against us; maybe that's why they don't work properly."

"They just decide one day to betray us?"

"Sure. Who wants to sit in an eye socket all day, cramped, barely able to move left or right, no room to turn around, with a leash attached to some squishy thing behind you always telling you what to do. Where to go. What to even look at."

"I never thought of it that way."

"No one ever does."

"We're obviously fighting the wrong war. Distracted by the Earl while the eyeballs around us are ready to rebel."

"How can we fight? How can we fight what we need to see?"

And they giggled like children.

It was good, to sit and speak quietly of silly things while war waged around them. A moment, however small, to make comedy of what could have been all too serious. They fell back into a heavy silence, watching the deceptively peaceful man in that too small bed, a thin sheet barely concealing strong thick belts strapping him down. Useless, they would be useless if Kanda truly wanted to leave, but it gave the doctors some level of peace of mind. A false sense of security.

"They really cobbled this place together with scrap material didn't they?"

"It was a sudden move."

"Hmm."

What did you say, when you stood over a man you knew would live, with the guilt and helplessness of a mourner? How was it that something as grievous as a near death could be so awkward?

There was only so often one could stand over this man's deathbed and play resurrection before the grief just bobbed uselessly within.

Was each time actually longer? It seemed to stretch on forever, even in the beginning. Seconds became minutes became hours and Bak went from standing to pacing to sitting until he didn't even fidget anymore.

Some days he actually brought a book.

Mostly because Kanda was usually awake through the process and it was weird, if anything in this arrangement was normal, to sit quietly on his hands while the soldier meditated through the pain.

This time he laid still as the dead, with nothing but the persistent noises of machines indicators of his life. His bruises stood out on a face gone white from strain, bruises would heal slowly while what lived inside him prioritized what would to an average person be fatal.

Bak breathed in deep. "His injuries were serious this time."

"Not the bullet wounds and knife fights we're used to. No." A beating was nothing new to anyone working with Kanda, but he typically came out on top. "Did you see the other guy?"

Far from an attempt at a joke, whoever Kanda's opponent had been a behemoth, with fists the size of their skull's. "Yeah. Yeah I did." And Bak would be dreaming of what those fists could do to a man Kanda's build, what they had done. "Scary."

"He's okay Bak." Komui placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's more resilient than most, we both know that."

A deflated lung, broken ribs, ruptured pupil, crushed organs, internal bleeding, shattered cheekbone, broken nose, fractured jaw, swollen brain, bruised frontal lobe, the list was scribbled in nearly illegible handwriting on the charts in Bak's hand. Kanda would recover from it, physically, his parent's lost miracle would leave not a single trace of the damage done, but all the science in the world couldn't erase the pain of being damaged. Internal injuries went deeper than blood and tissue, and this boy had acquired more than most.

There would be no place in line for any of them at heaven's gates, worse than the firing squads of the tyrannies they marched dutifully into the bowels of hell to learn its secrets, fully knowing what they did was wrong. Wishing futilely for a better world while doing nothing, nothing in their power to change the one they lived in. The one they created.

Instead they had left this burden to him, when it was they who compromised, they who let the line drawn be moved, inch by miniscule, excusable inch until there was no place left to cross. No evil too vile.

For the greater good, they had told him. All of humanity was at stake, weighed against the suffering of a select few. But those few were repeated, again and again, until there were too many to count, until humanity was being picked off bit by bit from both sides. Bak, no matter how long he worked or hard he tried, could not maintain such a distance, and when he stepped back, stepped out of the scientist's skin he was revolted by what he saw.

He had brought none of this upon himself, but unlike those before him he offered no excuses.

"We are all that protects them."

"What?"

Komui gave Bak's shoulder a good squeeze. "You were quiet so long; it was obvious what you were thinking of."

He couldn't look away from the steady beat of Kanda's heart scribbled green lines across a screen to the tune of a low beep. "It's our fault Komui."

"Yes."

No excuses between them. They too followed orders and gave them, they bore the weight of guilt when their men fell on the front lines, the guilt of a superior officer who would give those same orders over and over, watching their losses pile until it could no longer be considered "acceptable" but unable to stop the marching and toppling of the next.

"As long as we both know it."

Could they change it? No some ways they already had, but war was a downhill roll, building momentum the longer it is in motion, the steeper its decline, until no few number of men could possibly hope to halt it. It crushed and devoured those who stood before it, and continued on.

Now a mean spirited boy had tried to break apart the Order's prettiest doll, and lay on a metal slab to be shipped to some cold storage unit on the other side of the train tracks for his troubles.

Bak wished he could say he learned from his parent's deaths, but the lessons were fuzzy and hard to grasp. That those who followed orders and did evil would face their crimes? Or that those who stood against the great machine that was War would fall beneath its wrath?

"What's that in your hand?" Bak asked desperate for something else to think of. He lay his hands back in his lap and watched them curl into fists.

"Just an old bookmark." Komui lifted his cup to his lips again, but he had never refilled it and he balanced it on his knee. "It reminds me when I start to accuse others for things like this, when I try to avoid blame or accusation, or guilt..." Shifting the blame, not my fault, just following orders, every link a person of rank down that long chain in command until they're all pointing fingers at everyone else when someone asks why they're shackled in a dark room to a wall of spikes with no escape but death, "

"Sounds gloomy."

"It gets worse."

"I just bet."

_**IIIA**_

What was he doing here?

Suman clenched and unclenched sweaty hands at his sides. He was nervous. Were there agents of the Order already posted inside? The file he had pulled from Komui's computer using the administrators account had not been specific. They could already know he had done it. If they were using him as some lab rat they would of course be monitoring him. Anyone could be watching him right now.

But that was all the more reason to warn Allen, right? Sure he was leading them right to the boy, but if he knew he was being watched, he'd want to escape. And if Suman offered to help?

They could pool their resources. Cross had hidden for years. Suman and his daughter, it would be difficult to hide on their own, but he couldn't leave her to be used as a pawn. As a lure dangled before him.

And maybe, maybe he could do some damage himself. Get some of his own back.

Show them what it is like to be betrayed, to be used.

No, No this was ridiculous. What did he think he could accomplish? There was no way Allen Walker was at all connected to a Noah except in perhaps the most tenuous of ways. And even if he was, what possible counter offer could they give him?

Who knows what else he had inside him, waiting to show signs, symptoms.

He was being poisoned. Poisoned by those he had sworn to serve and in turn they would protect and aid his daughter.

Years, years he had given them. Bastards. Double crossing bastards. He had given them everything. EVERYTHING in exchange for his daughter's treatment, they had demanded no less. He would have spent better years with his daughter if he had just let her die slowly beside him.

No, no don't think like that. It is her life he was trying to save. It didn't matter that he was barely there, as long as she lived the way she wanted, enjoyed her world, followed her dreams, her passions, as long as she could grow up and love, he was fine.

So why was he here?

The cold air of the hospital froze his clammy skin. He moved across the tile waiting area on stiff swollen legs, the woman at the desk gave him an absent smile. "I'm here to see…" shit, shit. What name was the boy checked in under? A deceased woman. Should he use Allen's name, or hers? It was all so wrong, everything so wrong. He hadn't even planned this, how could he think he could just walk in here and visit someone under protective custody? How did they do this in the movies? How did they know exactly what room?

He swallowed the heavy lump in his throat so large it watered his eyes. "Iva..Iva Tetrels."

"Oh, yes." Her eyes filled with quiet sympathy, he had her full attention now. "I'm so sorry for your loss." Her hand was warm as she placed it over his and gave him a soft squeeze. Which Loss? Iva's supposed death? Or the dead Noah now cooling his very large heels in an industrial freezer waiting to be shipped to cold storage? Her compassion was so genuine though. He looked away.

"Please, just look at this camera here? I'll give you a visitor sticker."

It looked like a little computer cam, it didn't flash but the printer at her elbow hummed. She released his hand and pulled the tiny card out of the machine. It was yellow, and his greyscale picture looked like some washed out children of the corn concept art. She handed it to him and he peeled the sticker off, placed it on his shirt.

"The area you need to go is right there on the sticker, the elevators are down the hall around this corner." She gave him that same sad smile as he turned away, before returning to her work.

That was too easy. Far far too easy. Anyone could come here. Anyone could ask. Was that woman with the order? Obviously she was. The ties they had with everyone, with everything, only one simple phone call would have every door opened for any order member to come through. So now they knew he was here. They had to know.

A security camera caught his eye, like a large eyeball in the ceiling, round and covered in tinted glass. The receptionist was on the phone. Who was she calling?

The Order obviously. Or the Noah. Or Cross. Telling them someone was trying to see Allen.

This sticker was fake. Sabotaged. They wouldn't let him through the hall to the elevators. What kind of hospital prints visitors stickers, and so impossible to be used properly. It looked nothing like him. It was going to get him caught.

They were setting him up.

The hallway was too narrow. Images of Christ healing the sick stared with accusing eyes at him. Someone with a blue plastic tub filled with labeled blood bags walked out of a door marked with letters that blurred together and pressed a button on the elevator. The metal doors slid open, and out came two security officers.

Why two? Why was it always two? They came in pairs, all the time. In every movie.

The door beside him the woman had exited was locked automatically, his hand slid on the cold metal. He couldn't get a grip. They were heading this way. He was going to be taken back to the Order.

He went back the way he came, to a red door with a window, his heart pulsed in his head, his face hot, his hands like his legs felt swollen and clumsy, but the door opened at his touch and he hid inside.

He pressed his body to the wall, as flat as he could make himself, his eyes on what parts of the hallway he could see through the little square window, little crisscrossing wires in the glass cut diamonds in his vision. His pulse thundered in his ears, his eyes stung from sweat, he blinked back blurred vision. Ready, ready to do what? Whould he attack them when they followed him in?

Yes.

Eons stretched by, his whole world the sliver of wall he could see through that glass, but no one passed. Were they waiting outside his view? Had they come this way?

The room he was in was quiet, and with every moment that stretched on into infinity his anxiety eased. He hadn't been followed.

"Is something the matter?"

Suman jolted at the quiet voice and whipped his head around. His eyes, trained so long on the plain beige walls through the glass, took a shock at the sudden rich colors. The room was small and well lit with afternoon sun pouring through stained windows in colorful beams, and there looking concerned by the window, with the sun pouring liquidly around him, his eyes calm and watchful, his hands resting folded in his lap, was Allen Walker.

"What are you doing here?!" his voice was higher, louder then he intended, with the serrated edges of panic.

"Ah. Sorry, I needed a quiet place for a moment." He hunched his shoulders, twisting his fingers, "I couldn't stay in the room anymore."

Suman coughed, his throat felt raw, as if he had been yelling. He took a moment to look around as his thoughts and heart beat settled. They looked to be in the Hospital chapel, it was a quiet room, with red walls and deep brown wooden furniture, two lines of four pews and a humble altar, above it Christ hung his head in weary agony from his place of honor on the large bronze cross.

"Did you come to the hospital to visit someone?" Allen asked, seeing the yellow sticker. "Is everything alright?"

"Actually." How to broach the subject. "I was hoping to find that out. I heard from… from a friend… aaat at the park, the lake, over by the Library? I heard that someone had been injured and… and from the.. the description I was afraid, I thought, well I was afraid it might have been you."

"Ah." His mouth curved, but his eyes were solemn, his smile dimmed with sadness, he rose then, and crossed to take Suman's face in his hand. His unquestioning compassion soothed the anxieties running through the older man's mind. "I'm sorry. I hadn't thought of anyone other than my family, you must have been so worried."

"I," his hands were warm, even the prosthetic, "why should you of? We have only met a handful of times."

"Yes. You're right. But you worried, for me. Though I was all but a stranger?"

Not a stranger. No. Suman had watched him. Studied him. As they all had done. Allen was no stranger to any of them. And the insult of it burned inside Suman's stomach. That a boy, barely old enough to be living on his own, would have his life so thoroughly picked apart.

Everything was constricting around him. He could feel it. This soldier's skin he wore every day for the order, when had it gotten so heavy? So unbearable?

"I'm not like them." He said so suddenly, so fiercely, it surprised them both. "I'm not like everyone else, I don't turn my back on people when they're hurt just because they're strangers."

Allen pulled his hands back. "Everyone else?" There was irritation there. "Everyone else does, do they? Noone helps? I suppose this hospital, these people, they all just do this for the long, unreasonable hours and the mediocre paycheck. Is that it?"

Struck something. Allen's calm demeanor now vibrated with insult, Suman was at a loss of what to say, floundered, but the boy continued on. "I wonder how any of this continues on, how anyone at all could survive in a world so selfish and cruel. Right? No one helping anyone else? No, it's all on you, and others like you. The world is cold and cruel, but depend on me and I'll protect you. It that what it all is? Look around you!" he flung his arms out. "Look at what this evil world does to the people inhabiting it. Just leaving them in the streets to rot like garbage, but for the helping hand of the elite few. But they make sure, they make damn sure they have an empty room in a big fancy hospital, not for beds of sick, but to store their holy trinkets."

"I offended you. I'm sorry."

Allen twisted back to him, cocked a hip. "You insulted me." He took a breath, composed himself, but he was the serene boy no more. "You can't be blamed. It's everywhere now. Everyone thinks it. 'This world is terrible except for me.' It irritates me. That they would shout the evils of humanity at any chance, yet thank God for the gifts and donations of the very people they condemn."

"God often works his will through the efforts of others."

"God didn't bring this food, this medicine and these blankets. It was people, good people with good hearts." The intensity of ire in Allen's eyes had Suman leaning back just a bit. "You can say what you want about God's Will, but don't" a well-manicured finger dug into his chest like a stake through the heart, "you look at them as if they were some kind of puppet compelled to give help. This world is **not** as rotten as it is made out to be."

It took a moment, as Allen backed off and seemed to settle, that hot fury in his eyes banked to a glowing coal, cooking his emotions slowly. He walked to the middle of the room where a high narrow window slanted a single beam of light toward the altar at the center.

With a breath Suman gathered his thoughts, and found them strangely settled. "I work with... An organization that prides itself on doing everything for the sake of the greater good, the ultimate good," he gave a weak shake of his head, "the only good if you listen to some of the people running it, and no one there has ever said something so genuinely compassionate as that." He opened his eyes to fix them on the young man before him; silhouetted by the light from the window he had not quite stepped into, a ghost not yet ready to ascend, they watched each other a moment. A heartbeat. Two.

Allen sighed and turned towards the cross, the sun creamed over his skin and his face brightened by the flash of light revealed an expression suddenly very sad. "Everyone does things they could... **should** regret, and justify it as somehow being... Good." There was a pain in his voice, one Suman couldn't understand. "Your good, my good, someone else's idea of good, humans can always somehow make the ends justify the means." He nodded to the tortured image of Jesus, somehow serene in his agonized death. Allen hated the standard scene, it always made him uncomfortable, as a child he had wanted to crawl up and pull Jesus down. "Someone probably thought that was a good idea at one time, otherwise what would have been the point?"

"I've seen them... Make sacrifices. They call it funny names, make it all official and somehow make it all better, or maybe just easier." Suman looked at his hands, curled them into fists in his lap. "I've... I've helped them. I guess I never really wanted to think about it. The greater good." He laughed and it was an ugly sound. "A single individual is insignificant in the face of the greater good. Until that individual was me.

As he gazed through Mary's blue dress at the tidy lawns and hedges and flower beds slashed through with concrete walkways, his doubts and fears ran rampant. "It's a natural human instinct to weigh the few against the many, and to hold your own survival at greater import than others."

"Maybe, maybe... and maybe I'm doing that now. Maybe what I'm really justifying is my own good, my own decision. The world probably won't be better off without the Order, and there will probably be lots of deaths, but I... and my family... We might escape that." He looked back at the albino, still staring at the cross on the wall, his hair a halo of white in the slanted light of the sun. "I'm tired of being used. I want to take control of my life, I want to make the choice, by myself, and not be forced into it because I believed it was the only option left to me."

And because Allen's back was turned, Suman didn't see the smile grow over his face, the twisted, bitter, sad, triumphant smile of one who won the prize, and regretted the cost.

Revenge was hardly sweet, but vicious and acrid and difficult to swallow.

_**IIIA**_

I would like to begin by saying Merry Christmas and offering sincere apologies for my absence, I understand you, as readers, get the "sorry for the late update" line often, and I do hate that I am one of the most notorious writers in regards to a prolonged Hiatus for many of my long time and cross fandom readers.

Moving on, this was intended to be longer and include a larger Noah appearance than merely Allen and Tyki, however I have been having some issues in getting down the emotions the way I wanted too. Due to the difficulty of my writing Allen's panic attack, which in no way is how I envisioned it, I ended up avoiding it for the most part and fluffing the rest of the chapter with stupid metaphors in some deranged procrastination attempt. Several scenes were removed and later put back at the insistence of some of those who have been reading it over my shoulder.

The chapter title and challenge should have played a much larger role in this, and would have if the Noah meeting were included, however the amount of writing involved would have topped this chapter at 80 pages and I really would like to get this chapter out sometime this year.

With love,

-Rin


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